


Know the Score

by knifebunny



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Film Composer!Reader, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Soulmates, Reader-Insert, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Soulmates, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony doesn't cheat on the reader don't worry, Trust Issues, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifebunny/pseuds/knifebunny
Summary: “But I still want to see you,” he said, halting his steps when he had managed to wander over to the Mark 1’s display case. “How about this? Let’s scratch dinner and make it lunch. Zero pressure. Just two friends sharing a meal.”“So we’re friends now?” you chuckle, tucking your arm across your chest.“We could be,” you heard the teasing fluctuation of his voice. “That all depends on you.”If his idea of friendship was casual flirting, you weren’t sure you wanted anything to do with Tony Stark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhhh! I have no idea what I'm doing. Thank you for clicking on this!
> 
> [Tony's characterization and appearance are based off the comics version of him, specifically Brian Michael Bendis and Dan Slott's recent works. Hence the blue eyes and cheesy jokes.]

Your measly 2004 Honda Civic looked like a lost toad amongst a sea of tropical fish as it pulled up to the circular driveway of a massive Fallingwater-inspired mansion. You’re only four cars away from the main entrance and your palms wouldn’t stop sweating on the the steering wheel. There was a Maserati, Rolls Royce, restored Pontiac Firebird, and a Tesla ahead respectively.

Come to one of the after-parties, they said. It would be fun, they said. You leaned an elbow against the window, hoping your passenger can’t see the obvious look of displeasure and anxiety on your face. But she did and she whipped her head towards you, slamming the visor mirror shut and pointing at you with her mascara wand.

“I know that look. No jumping out of the car,” your friend Beth reminds you. “You promised.”

“I know, I know,” you heard yourself say but not quite believing it. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

There was already some strange energy in the air tonight. The bronze human-shaped statuette sitting in your friend’s lap with your name engraved on it speaks for itself. ____ ____, Best Original Score, _The Glass Blossom_ , 20XX. You repeated these words over and over in your head, along with the sound of roaring applause after your garbled acceptance speech. The memory was slowly coming back to you after being blocked out from sheer adrenaline in the moment. Hard to believe that was only three hours ago.

And it was also hard to believe that you had submitted the first track for _The Glass Blossom_ ’s soundtrack just three years ago. Never had a project pushed you to the brink of insanity while bringing you so much pride and joy. To have it all lead up to this moment, you sitting in a car with one of your first and few “showbiz friends,” waiting to arrive at your first Oscars after-party.

“Whose party is this again?” you asked, craning your head to see above the line of cars ahead.

“Tony Stark’s,” she replied nonchalantly, as if you had just asked her what the weather was like outside.

No wonder the house looked so familiar. Didn’t he live in a Manhattan skyscraper now? What was he doing back in Socal?

“I didn’t know he was a patron of the arts,” you snorted, leaning your elbow against the window.

“He’s not a patron of the arts, per say,” Beth giggled. “But he _is_ a patron of good times. I can’t believe you’ve never been to a Stark party before.”

“You know that parties aren’t really my thing, Beth.”

No, your introverted ass would rather be at home. Most likely in the bathtub, curled up with a good book. In fact, that was your original plan following the little awards ceremony you had just come from. But Beth had insisted you accompany her to this party and you were too curious to say no. As far as you were concerned, you needed to ride this wave of positive vibes after what could have been the peak of your career. God you really hoped this wasn’t the peak of your career.

“I know you aren’t, but this one will be worth it. I promise,” Beth smiled before the passenger side door opened revealing a friendly college aged man dressed in a valet uniform.

As the young man was helping her out of the car, the door on your side opened too revealing another college aged valet.

“Good evening,” he greeted, not looking up as he scribbled something on a notepad and then tore the top sheet off, sticking to the top of your windshield.

He offered a hand to help you out of your car, steadying you as you carefully took one foot out of the car and then the other. As you got to your feet, you suddenly remembered how much you hated wearing heels.

“This is your ticket for the valet. Just bring this back when you’re ready to leave and we’ll bring your car around,” he explained mechanically.

You opened your mouth to thank him, but he was already rushing the other side of the car where his co worker was waiting to take a selfie with Beth. You rolled your eyes in good nature and waited for her to finish signing a few autographs before joining you, waving goodbye and blowing kisses for her fans. Beth Caruthers was one of the few people that fame actually looked good on. And you were proud to call the rising actress your friend.

She gave you one of her less dazzling but reserved-for-friends smiles, jerking her head towards the house. “Shall we?” she said, offering her elbow.

“Let’s,” you nod, taking her arm.

You still remembered the first time you paid a visit to the home of one of your peers. He was recording some vocal tracks and needed your input, so he asked you to meet him in the in-house recording studio. You were sure that his Tuscan villa style mansion in Pasadena was one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen in your life. You still stood by that opinion but there was something so chic and alluring about Tony's place.

There was a faint breeze coming from over the neighboring shore. If you listened closely over the thumping music, you could hear the crash of the Pacific waves against the cliffside.

In typical party fashion, there were colored strobe lights and a massive dance floor set up in the middle of the main living area with a DJ spinning tracks on a raised platform. Was this a residence or a rave, you thought to yourself as Beth helped you navigate the sea of bodies. She gave you a sympathetic look as the fifth person in a row greeted the two of you, but mainly her.

“Why don’t you go ahead to the bar and get us some drinks? I’ll meet up with you in a second. I promise,” she smiled, reaching up to brush some of your hair out of your face.

The elegant pinned style you had for the red carpet and awards was beginning to fall apart but you were past the point of caring. You were crew, not cast. There weren't people hiding in the bushes to take pictures of you.

“Go do your thing, Beth. You don’t have to babysit me. I can take care of myself,” you chuckled.

She put her hands on your shoulders and shook you slightly. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s me. You’re here to make sure I don’t do anything stupid,” she commands firmly. “i.e., get plastered and make an ass of myself.”

You slowly raise up five apprehensive fingers in front of your chest, which she immediately takes a hold of and curls three of your fingers back into your fist.

“Two drinks? You’re only having two drinks tonight?” you paled. “Beth, you’re a seven drinks kind of woman. At the bare minimum.”

“I promised Georgia I would be good,” she pouted, shoulders sagging in defeat. “She made it very clear she doesn’t approve of me being at another Stark party, considering what happened last time.”

“Oh boy. Yeah, you still won’t tell me about what happened that night,” you recalled.

“And I never will,” she shuddered. “Now, shoo. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

Beth breaks off from you and waves at a couple from across the room. You recognize them as the leads from two different Netflix shows. The three of them shriek and squeal as their greeting and begin hugging and kissing, immediately launching into a conversation about god knows what.

With that, you’re left to navigate this party alone. You recognized more than half of the people in attendance from the silver screen, and the other half were just inhumanly beautiful and expensively dressed people. Mostly likely models or producers with the occasional tech billionaire snuck in. You felt like a nerd who snuck into a 90s high school house party and any minute you’ll be exposed by one of the popular kids who will demand that you leave immediately.

But no one stopped you and you made it to the bar safely. There’s only one stool left, flanked left and right by pairs already facing each other in conversation. You strode up the bar and hopped into the stool, telling yourself that everything was fine. You totally belonged here. And in some roundabout and indirect way, these people wouldn't be nearly as successful without your help, without your music.

“Gin and tonic and an iced water please,” you tell the bartender, who nods in acknowledgement.

You feel yourself zone out a little, the bustle and hop of the party becoming white noise as you watch the bartender throw together yours and Beth’s first drinks of the night.

“So are you the gin and tonic or are you the water?” a deep voice quips beside you.

You can feel yourself physically cringe, eyes closing in acceptance as a man in a neatly tailored, three-piece suit imposes himself into the space between you and the stool next to yours. It’s a voice you’ve heard on the news several times before promptly changing the channel. Your hands are tapping the counter idly, not knowing what to do with themselves as you turn to face Tony Stark himself.

He’s somehow exactly how you pictured and not what you imagined at all. Maybe it’s the lack of those ridiculous sunglasses. From this distance, you can actually see the soft blue of his eyes as he leans an elbow casually on the bar, his body angled towards you so it’s unmistakable that he’s speaking to you. There was no way out of this one.

“Preference or metaphorically?” you joked.

Tony hummed thoughtfully before answering, as if he’s pleasantly surprised by your answer.  

“Both?”

As the bartender sets the drinks in front of you on top of two drink napkins, you take a hold of your glass of water and take a long, well-deserved sip. His gaze never leaves yours as you do so, even when he waves for the bartender and taps two fingers against the bar. As if that’s supposed to impress you.

You raise your glass and gesture sarcastically like a game show assistant. “I’m a water kind of girl. Through and through.”

He chuckled, toasting with his own glass that just arrived. “Well it’s a good thing I’m six years sober.”

“Wow,” you blinked incredulously. “That was actually pretty smooth.”

He flashed what you thought was probably his winning deal-closer smile. You’d be damned before you admit that it made your heart skip a beat for the briefest moment. But with his name popping up in the tabloids every two weeks, you knew there was nothing more to this conversation than what he thought was just his moral obligation. See lonely girl at a bar? Hit on her. How noble.

And yet somehow it seemed rude to shut him down completely.

“Thank you. There’s definitely more where that came from. Tony Stark,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. “This is my house.”

“Nope, you ruined it,” you shook your head, jerking your hand back abruptly before it can take his.

“Damn. Where’d I lose you?” he asked as he retracted his hand, not looking the last bit deterred.

“At ‘thank you?’” you tell him, chuckling at the soft frown that forms on his face.

“Ouch. Tough crowd,” he breathed, offering his hand again. “Does this crowd have a name?”

“____,” you smiled.

The two of you exchanged a firm handshake and you decided to throw your last name in there too. Just for the heck of it.

“____ ____,” he repeated, as if trying your name out on his tongue. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Only if you watched the awards tonight,” you shrugged, smiling smugly to yourself.

“Bits and pieces. I definitely zoned out a few times,” said Tony.

He still couldn't understand why the Academy invited him every year. He had nothing to do with the industry whatsoever, besides the occasional product placement. And lately it was just a great way to run into exs or flings. But Pepper always made sure he went regardless. Good press, she said.

“Oh I remember now. You were one of the music people. Best song?” he guessed, but tried again after seeing the pursing of your lips. “No, best score! For that one movie my assistant won't shut up about.”

He always made an effort to remember the things that Pepper Potts loved and she loved _The Glass Blossom_ for a solid three months. Hell, even Steve had praised it. Which was all the more reason to put off watching it.

But from the way your eyes lit up with pride and shoulders relaxed in satisfaction, maybe it wouldn't be completely out of the cards to rent it sometime this week.

“It was my baby and now it's all grown up and out into the world,” you sighed.

“Yeah I know what that's like,” Tony smiled and tapped on the shining blue light glowing from his chest, where his heart would be. “I remember when Stark Industries sold its first arc reactor for commercial use. You spend so much time working on this one concept that there's a certain…”

“Intimacy?” you finished for him.

“Exactly,” he nods, eyes widening in pleasant surprise. “Like its weird for anyone else to be handling it but you.”

You downed the rest of your water, the ice clinking the glass when you set it back down. There was a magical humming in your ears as you stared into the ice cubes, the slightest shift causing them to brush against each other. Much like your shoulder and Tony’s. You had been feeling starstruck all night, surrounded by different talent, genius, and effort all night. This moment, right here, was no different, you tried to convince yourself.

You eyed Beth’s neglected gin and tonic sitting on the bar next to your glass and perked up. What a way to get sidetracked.

“I should get this to its rightful owner,” you said, holding up the other drink. “Great party.”

“See you around, Water Girl,” he chuckled, raising his glass to you.

You raised an eyebrow, an amused smile making its way across your features. You held up Beth’s drink since you were done with your own.

“Fine, Water Boy,” you quipped back. “See you around.”

Whether they really were or not, you could feel eyes on your back as you began to weave your way through the crowd to find your thirsty friend. If a short conversation with Tony Stark wasn’t enough to convince you that tonight was magical, then you absolutely were in denial. A quick glance at the massive glass clock that adorned a nearby wall told you it was only midnight and that things were far from over for you.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You weren’t supposed to have wormed your way so quickly into Tony’s mind, but there you were. Right next to a bunch of other things he couldn’t quite figure out. And that part of his brain wasn’t very full, thank you very much.

He watched as you walked away from him and towards the dance floor, chuckling at your casual grooving and shaking as you tried to find the recipient of that drink you ordered. Was it a significant other? A spouse? Maybe a date? Who would a composer bring to the Oscars? He was getting serious ‘married with an adoring devoted spouse’ vibes from you. But the lack of a ring said otherwise.

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise as you slid up to his former classmate Beth Caruthers, handing her the gin and tonic with a smile. Ah yes. Good ol’ Beth. The only person that wanted anything to do with him during his first few weeks at Andover. He couldn’t remember much from his time at the Massachusetts boarding school, only that it was a stepping stone on the way to MIT, that his parents couldn’t wait to send him there as soon as they possibly could, and that if Beth Caruthers hadn’t stepped in when she did, he would have gone to his first class of freshman year with a black eye.

He watched as Beth turned to exchange a few words with you, the others hanging on her every word. If you knew you were being scrutinized by the company, you didn’t show it. You merely shrugged and said something that had everyone’s eyes bugging out of their sockets. Beth began scanning the room until her green eyes landed on the bar and then on him. Busted. For good measure, he gave her a friendly wave and she waved back excitedly before turning back to you. This world was too small for its own good, Tony thought to himself.

He sighed and turned back to the bar, muttering a thanks to the bartender before taking his leave. There were places to be, people to mingle with, and the night was still young.

* * *

Turns out your plan to babysit Beth was not going as well as you had hoped. In the short time you were at the bar, she had already managed to get herself roped into trouble. You couldn’t believe you pulled yourself away from your desk for this.

“So are we gonna get this game started or what?” the gentleman next to Beth asked, motioning for the rest of his friends who cheered in response.

“Wait, what game?” you asked, head whipping to look up at your friend.

Was it too much to hope it was something simple like charades?

“Guys, this is ____. She writes music,” she introduced briefly, putting you on the receiving end of a brief chorus of hellos, nice to meet yous, and congratulations before they went back to the more pressing topic at hand.

“Beth, what game?” you repeated with more urgency.

She laughed nervously and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side. “We were waiting for you to come back so we could play quarters.”

“Two drinks, Beth. You told me two drinks. Quarters is a minimum four drink activity. And that’s if you’re good at it, and you aren’t,” you stated, ignoring the boos you were receiving from an actor that you recognized from last summer’s raunchy road trip comedy movie.

You were this close to telling him to shut his unhelpful, typecasted trap.

“Just this one game, ____. It’ll be fine. It’s why we waited for you,” Beth reasoned, before turning to her fellow actors. “She’s my party mom tonight.”

No, you were not going to disappoint your favorite lesbian power couple. You had planned for this exact moment ever since Beth’s girlfriend told you she couldn’t stay for the after-parties. You reached into your clutch, pulled out your phone, and shoved it into Beth’s face. For tonight, you had changed your background to a picture of Beth and Georgia smiling on a beach.

“Are you really going to disappoint her?” you asked. “You promised.”

Beth made a whining noise, which you hoped would lead to her standing down. But instead her eyes lit up with an idea. “I know, why don’t you drink for me?”

“I’m supposed to be the one driving us home, Beth. How does that make any sense?” you retorted.

“Yeah, but you’re also the more responsible one, and you’ll be fine in a couple hours. Just one game.”

“You can just use Sprite if you’re too vanilla,” mocked raunchy comedy guy.

“Shut up, Dwayne. ____ is a badass,” Beth jumped. “We’re doing teams and I pick ____.”

Once the partnerships were formed, the group made its way through a set of glass doors that seemed to magically slide open as you approached. The backyard seemed to be another party altogether with people in various states of undress as they waded in an infinity pool that overlooked the picturesque Malibu cliffside. Dwayne led you to a group of patio sofas that surrounded a glass coffee table and began lining up the shot glasses while Beth and another girl began opening the beer bottles.

You sighed and sat back in the additional pool chair that you had to drag to the group, trying to block out the sounds of the bubbly party-goers and Dwayne’s irritating voice as he made a point to explain the rules. Like you hadn’t played before. Moron.

Outside, the music was nothing more than a faint bass, allowing the sound of the nearby waves to reach your ears. You laid your head over the top of the chair and let your eyes fall back over the house. From the glass array of windows, you could see the guests inside the house chatting and swaying along to the music. Just then you spotted a familiar backside mingling close to the edge.

You observed as Tony spoke to a black man dressed in a suit with the familiarity that spanned decades of friendship, the two of them laughing as the other man punched him lightly on the shoulder. His friend took a swig of the beer in his hand before nudging Tony on the same shoulder he punched, his brown eyes meeting yours. Tony raised an eyebrow and and followed his gaze to the game of quarters that was ensuing in his backyard.

The jangle of coins hitting glass and several cheers snapped you out of your revelry. You heard a cry of anguish from Beth as you focused your attention back on the table where there was most certainly not a quarter in the shot glass in front of you.

“Drink up, ____,” snickered the former child star sitting on your right.

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, shaking your head at Beth before tipping back the glass.

The cheers that followed your downing of carbonated malt juice didn’t quite have the empowering effect that it was supposed to have.

“I’ll make the next one, I promise,” Beth told you, squeezing the hand perched on your knee.

Somehow you seriously doubted that.

* * *

For most of his guests, this was their second or third after-party following the Oscars, the penultimate stop before retiring for the night. As Tony glanced around, he noticed the sluggish nature that the party was taking on. Instead of the hard writhing and bouncing that was happening two or three hours ago, the dancing looked more like sways and wobbles. In fact there were very few people still on the floor and he wondered if he should just send the DJ home early and ask FRIDAY to queue up one of his playlists for the remainder of the evening.

And what about the woman he met earlier? Beth’s friend? The composer? Was she having a good time? For some reason, it was very important to him that you were having a good time.

“Hey, speaking of Pep, have you seen her anywhere? There’s someone I want her to meet,” he asked Rhodey, his friend arriving fashionably late as always.

“Pepper? I’m pretty sure she went home already,” said Rhodey, raising an eyebrow. “Y’know to work on the Expo. The one that’s coming up in a few months? The one with your name attached to it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony dismissed. “That bridge is still miles away. Have I ever failed to deliver?”

“Yes, actually. Several times,” his best friend sighed. “Y’know, I still can’t believe you want to do another one after what happened last time. Remember? When Hammer tried to murder us?”

“But this year is gonna be different. You’ve seen the mockups and models. I thought you liked the new direction,” said Tony, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Believe me, Tony, I do,” reassured Rhodey. “But we all thought you were going to take it more seriously. Pepper says you never show up to the meetings.”

“Those meetings are pointless and you know it. I have better things to do than picking what fonts go on the digital pamphlets. Also who’s ‘we?’”

“We?”

“Yeah, you said ‘we.’ ‘We all thought.’ Who’s ‘we?’”

“‘We’ is me,” he gestured to himself. “Pepper, Happy, FRIDAY, probably the entire staff, the kid.”

“The kid? What does the kid have to do with any of this?”

“His high school’s robotics club is doing a presentation on one of the small stages. You would know that if you went to the meetings,” Rhodey sighed. “This wasn’t meant to be an intervention, Tony. All they’re asking is just ten percent more of your time, maybe even twenty if we’re being ambitious.”

Tony heaved a painful sigh. Rhodey was right, as usual, but he'd die before he would admit it. And Rhodey knew that too, which is why his friend didn't need the verbal affirmation. Just their speechless connection, honed from years of friendship. A simple nod from Tony was enough to let him know the message was received, loud and clear.

Tony gave his friend a hard pat on the shoulder before waving at someone that was across the room. The two exchanged goodbyes and Rhodey watched as his friend made his way towards the entryway in order to say goodbye to a group that was on their way out, their limo already parked out front and waiting. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was about time for him to get going too.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral from semi-structured quarters to a chaotic chugging contest. You should have known from the way a catty-looking blonde kept glancing at her phone whenever it wasn’t her turn. A few minutes after your first penalty drink, a woman that could have been the blonde’s twin or sister from a different father slithered up the group with a large clear plastic bin full of jello shots. There were also two bottles of Jack Daniels sticking their necks out of their ice bath.

You leaned over to ask Beth who she was but your words were drowned out by the cheers upon the arrival of more alcohol. Soon, your little group was surrounded by others in the pool and nearby as they all reached their grubby little hands into the bin to grab a handful of the tiny plastic cups of jello.

“Is Tony ok with you bringing those in here?” you had to ask warily as Beth dropped a blue one into your hands before taking a red one for herself.

In one swift motion, you slapped it out of her hands with your left hand and let it fall into the waiting palm of your right. Beth’s stunning complexion was already glowing a bright red, too slow to even react to your skilled move with anything but a shocked and awed gaze. There would be no jello shooting on your watch.

“So what? It’s not like he’s my dad. Although, I wouldn’t mind calling him daddy,” said Catty’s sister with a smirk. “If you know what I mean.”

“Alright, I think we’re gonna head home for the night,” you said, your chair nearly toppling over as you stood abruptly.

“No, ___. I want to stay,” Beth whined, her arms becoming limp noodles when you tried to pull her out of her seat.

“Beth, you’re way past two drinks. I think we should leave before you do something stupid,” you said, speaking calmly and slowly for her.

Beth whined as you pulled her up and whined all the way back to the house, nearly tripping over the doorway and taking you down with her in the process.

You managed to make it back to the living area and propped Beth up on one of the couches. It probably wasn't a good idea to leave her alone so you took a seat yourself. You sighed and patted her head affectionately. It had been a long day and night for the both of you.

You had woken up at six this morning because of your internal alarm and couldn’t go back to sleep because of the nerves. So you got out of bed and logged in a few hours at your desk before your hair and makeup appointment and you hadn’t stopped moving since. A cup of coffee sounded heavenly right about now.

“You're so nice, ____,” Beth slurred, reaching out to touch your hair.

“Alright, champ, settle down,” you sighed, placing her hand back in her lap.

She snorts and giggles, looking way too pleased with herself. “Ok...champ,” she mimicked, laughing at her own joke.

“You need to get some water in you,” you note, patting her red cheeks. “Georgia is never going to speak to me again.”

“No!” shouted Beth and you blinked in surprise from the sudden outburst. “Georgia loves me and I love you so she has has to love you too. That’s how it works.”

“Yup, that's how it works,” you nod in agreement, pressing against her shoulder as a cue to lay back on the couch but her brain decided to ignore this as she sprung back up again.

“You need a Georgia too,” she demanded. “Like you don't need one but...it’s so messed up that you're single.”

“It’s not that messed up,” you shrugged. “I'm ok being single.”

“Single looks so good on you,” said Beth. “Like you look good by yourself.”

And you planned to keep it that way.

You nodded along and hummed along with her drunken rambling, finally nudging her head back against the headrest so you could take out your phone. How much is it for a Lyft back to West Hollywood, you wondered.

If anything, this was all Beth’s fault so you would be sure to make her pay for the ride home. Once you had a map with your origin and Beth’s condo as the destination, you winced at the double digit price point. Yup, this was definitely your last Tony Stark party.

“Huh, I didn’t think my address would show up on that,” spoke the devil himself.

You looked up from your phone to see Tony standing beside you, gesturing towards a passed out Beth drooling in her sleep.

“It doesn’t. I’ll have to walk down the hill a little,” you frowned, pinching and zooming with your fingers.

“Are you two gonna be ok? If you want, I can ask Happy to give you a lift,” he offered, his blue eyes flickering with concern.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I think I’ll just make the drive. I have no idea how I’ll get my car back from here tomorrow,” you shrugged your shoulders.

“Please. Give me an hour under the hood of that dinky little Civic of yours and I’ll make it drive itself home,” he smirked.

“That won’t be necessary. I like driving,” you said with a sheepish smile, as if you were embarrassed to admit it. “I’m actually looking forward to the peace and quiet.”

Another thing you both had in common. Tony offered both his hands to you, pulling you to your feet.

“You sound like you could use another drink. How about a nice cold bottle of San Pellegrino, all to yourself?” he teased.

“Actually, I’m itching for some coffee, if you have any,” you asked hopefully.

“You’re in luck,” he smiled, standing from his seat on the arm rest. “I always have a fresh pot waiting for me in the garage.”

“In case it’s one of those all-nighter kind of nights?”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

When you glanced back worriedly at Beth, he gestured for his bodyguard. “Happy’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust anyone named Happy,” you commented warily.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the joke.”

You were led down a spiraling glass staircase to a lower level sealed by more glass. You averted your eyes as Tony entered a six digit code and held his face up to a dot-sized camera that you thought was a smudge on the door.

“This is it. My church, my sanctuary, my workshop, where all the magic happens,” he held his arms out dramatically as the lights flickered on one by one revealing several workstations and tables.

Some were littered with plans both physical and digital and others with a Frankensteinian assortment of machine parts. The room had a faint blue glow from the various digital interfaces that hovered about the space. To get to the small kitchenette in the corner, Tony led you past a semicircle of human-sized display cases that housed his various Iron man suits, each with a different design or function.

The gravity of where you were hadn’t hit you until Tony handed you a fresh cup of coffee from a very plain-looking coffee maker before pouring one for himself. Something you would find in a motel bathroom and not in the garage of one of the world’s most wealthiest people. Of course, your mug did say “Stark Industries” on the side.

“It’s pretty good,” you nodded, referring to the dark, bitter liquid in front of you.

Exactly what the doctor ordered.

“It better be. I had those beans flown in from Colombia,” he chuckled, taking another sip of his.

“You have to stop saying stuff like that,” his words causing you to lower your mug before you could tip it back. “Especially around normies like me.”

“There’s no way you’re a normie. You just won an Oscar. You’re at the big kids table now,” said Tony. “Embrace it.”

“Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

“That was your first film?” his eyes widened.

“Nah, my sixth. I mostly did indie stuff, TV shows, and jingles for commercials before that,” you shrugged. “Anything to pay the bills.”  

Your first five. The first two were rom coms that no one watched. The third was a teen slasher film that one of your friends from college was involved in and so you felt obligated but mostly desperate. The fifth was the first installment in a spy thriller adaptation. And the sixth was _The Glass Blossom_ , the film that could truly be the beginning of your career.

“So you’re the struggling artist type?” he offered, raising his coffee mug to you in mock toast.

“It’s not that much of a struggle anymore, but I still do piano lessons three times a week. Rent’s a lot more manageable,” you explained casually. “I finally hired an assistant to manage my schedule.”

“I probably couldn’t get out of bed without my assistant,” he chuckled, a fond smile lighting up his features.

“I already regret giving mine the spare key but it’s my nephew and he sometimes brings me food so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The two of you share another laugh before an awkward silence hits. You’re in Tony Stark’s basement in the middle of a party. This had all the makings of your basic hookup setting and yet you’ve never felt more relaxed knowing that anything like that was way off the mark. In fact, he was already pushing himself off the counter and gesturing for you to follow him back upstairs.

“So you never told me what brought you to my humble abode?” he asked, pushing the glass door shut behind him.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” you began. “My friend thought I needed a break, even if it’s just for one night and now I’m here.”

“Beth right? Beth Caruthers is your friend?”

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Believe it or not, we went to high school together,” he chuckled when the sleeping actress came into view from the top of the stairs. “But I haven’t seen her in years. Glad to see she hasn’t changed a bit.”

“What about you? You never struck me as a Hollywood type. Why throw a party for us?” you asked curiously.

“I don’t think I ever need an excuse to throw a party. Maybe I was trying to Jay Gatsby you.”

“Eww,” you cringed. “Are you going to bring me to your closet next so I can throw your shirts around?”

“Yeah, no. Not happening. Besides, I have something much cooler to show you,” he smiled, leading you through the sleepy party towards a previously unexplored part of the main living area.

You let out a low whistle when your eyes feasted upon the beautiful sight in front of you. Nestled next to another minibar was a Model D Steinway and Sons grand piano. How did you not notice it when you first arrived?

“So this was your plan, huh? Free entertainment? The DJ is packing up and now you want me to play,” you chuckled, running your hands over the lid, just itching to lift the cover and reveal those smooth ivory keys.

“Hey, I just thought you would appreciate this old thing. It was actually my mom’s and somehow it ended up here when I moved in,” he shrugged.

“I shouldn’t,” you sighed, rapping your knuckles gently against the black wood. “Otherwise I’m never going to leave, and if Beth sees me she’s going to kill me.”

Tony leaned casually against the case. “Oh c’mon, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. When was the last time you played for fun?”

You opened your mouth to tell him exactly when but you halted. The memory that comes to mind was at Warren’s house, a little wrap celebration after _The Glass Blossom_ ’s final scoring session. After one too many glasses of wine, you and the talented conductor stumbled into his study and stayed up all night playing various covers of 80s pop songs on his Bluthner. And that was…

“Way too long ago.”

“See? And if I listened to everything Rhodey told me to do, I wouldn’t be here with you right now, at this amazing party,” he reasoned.

“Isn't that funny? Your friend thinks you work too little and my friend thinks I work too much.” you pointed out, finally peering under the lid.

When he gave you a nod, you lifted it back gently and your breath caught in your throat.

It was an absolute work of art, something you thought you would only be able to play second hand and never actually own. A piano like this belonged in a concert hall or theater. Not some rich guy's house where it was wasting away in a corner and being used as an accent piece.

“For the record, I also think I work too much, just not on the things people want me to work on,” he justified.

“Like hosting parties?”

“Like Avenging. And being Iron Man.”

“So this is just a one time thing?” you joked, gesturing to the diminishing crowd.

“I feel like I'm being called out here. What's the deal, Water Girl?”

“Nicknames like that, for starters.”

“The nicknames are a sign of affection,” he explained. “Here, you need to relax.”

He patted the bench and motioned for you to take a seat. When you made no effort to move from your spot, he patted the bench again for emphasis. Despite the roll of your eyes, he smiled when you finally gave in and took a seat behind the piano, your fingers itching to press the keys.

“Any requests?” you offered, flicking your wrists back and forth to stretch.

“Only that you have fun,” he teased.

You started by running through a few scales and arpeggios. No matter what you did it seemed like every other note was off key. After a particularly harsh sound, Tony winced as your two fingers assaulted the key over and over again, your eyes throwing daggers of disapproval.

“This is what murder sounds like, Tony,” you said over the repeating noise. “It’s a disgrace. When was the last time this thing was tuned?”

He let out a breath, blue eyes flickering towards the ceiling. “I don't know...maybe two or three years ago?”

“Oh my god…”

After losing Obadiah Stane, who loved the piano just as much as Maria Stark, Tony saw it as a gateway to memories of people he had cared for and lost. All of the people in his life who could possibly play it were gone and he lived in New York for six out of the twelve months, so he didn't see any need to hire someone for a tune up.

“Tony, this is a Steinway. They're supposed to be tuned at least twice a year and once before every major performance,” you explained.

“Is it too late to call for one now?” he teased, leaning his face on his arm.

“It’s almost three in the morning,” you pointed out, nudging his arm off the end of the keys.

Your head was going through a small library of songs you knew you could play off the top of your head. Mostly things from recitals or songs that you kept near and dear to your heart. There was an odd part of you that wanted the piano to know that it was still worth something.

Tony felt his spine stiffen when your fingers approached the keys, hesitating for just the briefest of moments before an assured smile took hold of your lips. In fact, it never left from the moment you began to play, playing a piece that felt nostalgic in his heart but he was sure he had never heard before. He had recognized that look of bliss on your face before and it was as if he was invisible.

Sure, the piano was wildly out of tune, but it was like your ears were filling in the gaps in your brain. You played on and on as if nothing was amiss until the song ended five minutes later. Tony gave you an enthusiastic applause, motioning for you to scoot over on the bench so he could take a seat next to you.

“Christ, that was amazing,” he commented. “Did you write that?”

You sparked with laughter, shaking your head. “God no, I wish. It’s from a movie I saw when I was in high school. My parents used to yell at me because I was trying to learn how to play it by ear.”

“Well ok. I can see how that would be annoying after a whole month,” he conceded.

“Yeah, but I think tonight was the right night to play it,” you shrugged. “Besides, my brain can only handle that much right now. I’m really tired.”

“So I can’t ask you for one more?” said Tony, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

“Only if you play with me,” you laughed, gesturing to the instrument.

“You’re kidding right?”

“No, I’m not. Here, just play this,” you said, lifting your fingers to the keys play a basic chord. “Just over and over again.”

When he gave you another incredulous look, you took his hand into yours and placed it over the keys. The magnitude of what you were doing hitting you full force as you carefully manipulated his calloused fingers over the right keys. If your makeup hadn’t rubbed off by now, it was about to melt from the blush that was overtaking you. And Tony knew that look, the one that said you would rather die than admit it.

You wanted to slap the cocky smirk off his face, but instead of your hand meeting his cheek, it fell on top of his hand instead. “Just...like this,” you said softly.

Your palm pressed over his hand in the same simple rhythm as you sang along, nodding along in approval when you slowly pulled back and he continued, albeit without the same mastery and control as you. Close enough. When you were sure he could manage without you, you lifted your hands to the keys and began to play a melody to match his rhythm.

It was another song he couldn’t recognize, but from the way you raised an eyebrow in apprehension, it didn’t seem like you really knew it either. You would hit your stride for a few bars, playing something decent sounding, but then the next few would fall flat compared to those before it. It wasn’t perfect, but there was always one thing that was consistent. He realized that it was him; him playing the same four notes over and over again.

When you finally took your hands off the keys, he took it as a cue that he could too. “What was that?”

“It’s a party trick someone taught me. You can add it to your playboy toolbox,” you laughed. “You just play that same chord over and over again and the other hand can play random stuff as long as it’s in time. It’ll sound...mostly good.”

“Or I could just learn how to play the piano,” he gestured to himself. “Genius and all.”

“Yeah but will you though?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm you got me there.”

He watched as you stood from the bench and brushed off your dress. “I should probably get going before the coffee wears off,” you sighed.

“Are you really sure you don’t need a lift?” he offered again.

“Nah, I should be fine,” you chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to drive me and Beth home.”

You and Tony returned to find Beth still in the same spot you left her in, Happy sitting beside her playing a game on his phone. In a kind act of chivalry, the bodyguard’s suit jacket was draped over her form like a blanket. Good ol’ Happy, Tony thought.

“She woke up earlier, said something about leaving something in Georgia, and then passed out again,” Happy reported without looking up from his phone.

“I’ll take it from here--”

“No, allow me,” said Tony, bending down to scoop Beth into his arms and carrying her towards the door as if she were weightless. “Happy, can you call for their car?”

You dug around in your clutch and handed Happy the slip for your car before heading towards the front door with Tony. Beth looked so peaceful sleeping in his arms that you couldn't help the stirrings of jealousy. But there they were, two incredibly beautiful people who seemed so far out of reach and yet could be so kind.

A valet finally pulled up with trusty Civic and smiled as he held open the door for you. Happy did the same for Tony who carefully tucked Beth into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind her. You were in the middle of adjusting your mirrors and seat when you heard tapping on the glass. You looked up to see Tony gesturing for you to lower your window. You gave him a look as you reached for the button.

“Yes, dear?” you joked.

Tony smiled back as he bent down to your eye level. His lips parted with a thought, but you could see him mentally hitting ‘Delete’ in his head. He nodded to confirm his words with himself before speaking.

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

You waited for him to pull back. To let you go. In full view of his bodyguard and the two or three valet drivers, he did absolutely nothing. Leaving you both to wonder if this night really happened or not.

“Hey, Tony,” you called, snapping him out of his revelry.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll get your piano tuned.”

He laughed, “First thing in the morning, ____.”

“Good,” you nodded.

He savored the night breeze with a deep breath. By the time your car had disappeared down the hill, he and Happy had already retreated inside.


	3. Chapter 3

As last night’s overnight guests began to slowly filter out, the cleaning service he hired were beginning to shuffle in. The sound of heels clacking against the marble floor coupled with the endless rustling of heavy duty garbage bags made it impossible to think. Why did he feel a soul crushing hangover despite the fact that he made sure not to have a single drink? After a series of double cheek kisses from a quartet of French high-fashion models, he finally descended into his workshop, basking in the soft hum of his desk setup booting up.

Tony stared blankly at the glass panel that made up his keyboard as the blue backlights illuminated, ready for input. If he could look through your eyes, he wondered if he could see a similar view of you looking down at your piano with your delicate fingers hovering over the black and white keys. For the life of him, he tried to remember the song you played for him last night but could only recall bits and pieces.

He was already on the imdb homepage, ready to type your name into the search bar when he suddenly remembered his promise. First thing in the morning, he had said. Just in case he couldn’t resist the temptation, he spun around in his chair to face the worktable closest to him, which housed the bits and pieces of a prototype communicator for the Hulk.

“Hey, FRIDAY, can you find me a piano tuner?” he called out. “Set up a session for the big guy upstairs.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that,” she quipped.

“Why would you care? It’s not like you can play,” he paused. “Wait...can you play?”

“Of course I can. What do you think I’m doing when I’m not looking up the weather for you?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at the soft piano music that began to flow throughout the house. A frightened shriek echoed from upstairs, followed by the harsh clack of a wooden mop handle hitting the floor. Whoops.

He had completely forgot that he had tinkered with that piano so that it could play itself digitally. His father was not amused in the slightest but Maria Stark found it to be an adorable move by a thirteen year old Tony.

Present-day Tony rushed to the living room where one of the cleaning crew members was comforting his coworker, who was pointing a trembling finger at the piano and mumbling something about a ghost.

“No no, it's not a ghost. It's just my assistant being clever,” he reassured. “FRIDAY, you can knock it off now.”

The synthetically perfect Moonlight Sonata halted mid-note followed by her voice echoing throughout the house. “I found five piano tuners nearby. Shall I make an appointment for you, boss?”

“Yeah, just...stop scaring the cleaners,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He grimaced when he felt flecks of hardened hair product. Gross. And although he appreciated the Italian custom-made shirts his tailor sent him regularly, he desperately needed a shower and to get into a T-shirt and sweatpants.

“Shall I also give Miss. ____ a call?”

“What? Why?”

“I thought she would want to know that your piano will be tuned by this afternoon,” the AI piped up, sounding way too giddy for his liking. “So she can play that song again.”

“Do you know what song that was?” he asked, swiveling around his chair again to face his rig.

“I can run a scan on some databases if you'd like,” she offered.

Tony figured it was a waste of breath to comment on the fact that FRIDAY had already pulled up your imdb page for him on the browser while he was upstairs.

“Hold that thought…”

Thanks to last night, there were already a nice handful of pictures of you from the red carpet standing next to a combination of the same handful of producers and directors from _The Glass Blossom_. And there was that simple black number you were wearing that haunted his dreams and his morning. He muttered a colorful word under his breath and stood from his chair with more force than intended.

Pepper ran into him on his way upstairs, already tapping away on her tablet. “Tony, you're awake! But it's only ten!”

“I got a good night's sleep last night!” he called back.

Well, only four hours. But it was a personal best. It took a lot to faze Pepper Potts but Tony getting any amount of sleep made her halt in her tracks, mouthing a strong, “What?”

She trailed after him to the master bedroom, standing just outside the bathroom as he stripped off his drink and sweat stained clothes from last night and climbed into the shower.

“Did anything happen after I left?” asked Pepper, not looking up from her screen.

He made a thoughtful humming noise that was barely audible over the rain style shower head. “Not really…”

There was no use hiding anything from Pepper. Not when she knew him better than he knew himself. But there was a nagging feeling in him that wanted to keep you a secret for just a little longer. Even though there was a more than strong chance that she already knew.

“If you say so,” she said. He could practically hear the smirk of disbelief from her voice. “I wanted to go over your opening remarks for the Expo.”

“Shoot.”

“Everything is mostly set in stone, but the sound people want to know what songs you want to play during your entrance and exit.”

“Tell you what, I'll get back to you on that,” he said after a long thoughtful pause as he rinsed the soap off his body.

“Tony, they want to start rehearsing by June,” she warned.

Another pause. This time longer as she heard the creak of the shower door opening and closing. Tony emerged a moment later with a towel around his waist, peering over her shoulder at the mockups and storyboards for the opening ceremony of the Stark Expo. Everything was in place thanks to the best minds in the business. All that was missing was the music. It was like the universe was sending him a blaring Las Vegas style neon sign.

“I have someone in mind,” he said, a knowing smile on his lips as he strolled backwards into his walk in closet.

“Knowing you, I'd recommend having a couple more someones in mind. Just in case,” advised Pepper.

“If this doesn't work out, I'll have as many someones as you want.”

But this had to work out. For the sake of his immediate sanity, it had to. What was the worst that could happen? You saying no? Actually, that would be the worst thing.

“Can I at least get a name so I can start contacting them now?” Pepper sighed, finally putting down her tablet as she waited for him to emerge from the closet.

“Actually, I was hoping I could take point on this,” he replied, stepping out in one of his many faded band tees and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“One week.”

“Two weeks,” he countered.

“Five days.”

“Ok, ok! A week. If I can’t convince this person in a week, you have my permission to go with the usual suspects.”

Pepper patted him firmly on the shoulder before taking her leave. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

No, it wasn’t hard, but Pepper wasn’t the one he needed to convince. As he made his way back to the garage, he found himself humming the tune you were playing, trying to decode the melody. It sounded nostalgic, even though he had never heard it before. Like the childhood he never had.

“Shit,” he mumbled after fumbling the door code, the same code he had entered millions of times before.

After a shameful second try, he got it right and let himself in.

“Don’t. Say. Anything,” he called to FRIDAY. “Just call Beth Caruthers.”

* * *

You woke up to the sound of Beth hurling in the toilet again, the same sound you fell asleep to. You heard her girlfriend, Georgia, whispering soothing words from the bathroom as she held back Beth’s hair.

“Oh thank god, you're awake.”

You mumbled something incoherent in response, meaning to say good morning as you sat up from your makeshift bed on their couch. You eyed your dress and heels from last night draped haphazardly over the back of one of their dining table chairs. Beth's white floral gown had at least made it back into its Elie Saab garment bag. Except it was hanging on the handle of their oven instead of her closet.

“Can you help me with this?” Georgia called from the bathroom. “I have to be at work in twenty minutes...because some of us have normal jobs.”

A smile ghosted over your lips as you rubbed at your eyes and threw their blissfully soft sherpa throw off your lap. Beth's brunette ponytail was handed off to you as Georgia pressed a kiss on top of her head before darting out the door.

“Sooo, what--" but the actress’ question was interrupted by a hard gag.

You turned away from the sight, trying to block your nose as well but to no avail. You had never seen Beth drink that much before. Hell, you don’t think you’ve seen anyone drink that much before.

“What happened after I passed out? How long did we stay?” she croaked out.

“Until three,” you replied. “Honestly there were five other people passed out. It was like one big sleepover. You didn't miss much.”

“What about Tony? Did he pass out too?”

Vivid memories of him sitting next to you on the piano bench flooded your brain. The way his calloused hands could almost cover yours completely, the way he smelled faintly of patchouli and motor oil, the way his blue eyes softened as he listened to you play.

“No actually, he was the one who carried you to the car,” you told her.

And the way he looked like he really wanted to say or do something other than goodnight when you rolled down your window to thank him.

“Oh god. Really?” she snorted, leaning her elbow on the rim of the toilet.

Only Beth could still look glamorous and beautiful as she wiped a bit of vomit from the edge of her lips. But she was still human and her breath was still god awful. “He’s never gonna let me live that down,” she sighed with a smile.

You reached over to flush the toilet and hauled a Bambi-legged Beth to her feet. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty. Let's get some breakfast in you,” you sighed.

“Yes please!”

After Beth Caruthers, Oscar-nominated actress, was tucked away under a black LA Kings cap and Ray Bans, the two of you set off for her favorite brunch spot, located a few blocks from her place. With you behind the wheel of course. Once she had some coffee in her, a bit of Beth's life force was restored and she was raring to go.

“All I remember is beating that bitch from that stupid vampire show in a drinking contest. Oh god. She's not a bitch. I love her,” she whined. “Why did you let me do that, ____? I told you to keep an eye on me.”

“I did! You wouldn't listen. And I did keep an eye on you. You're alive, aren't you?” you said, gesturing at her.

“Yeah but I feel like garbage. Alcohol is like...men. They're great going down but you just regret everything in the morning...and other things straight women say,” she said, sighing dramatically.

“Riveting. You were robbed last night,” you chuckled, holding up your coffee cup in a mock toast.

“Oh shut up. If it wasn't _The Glass Blossom_ , it didn't win,” she rolled her eyes before her eyes softened. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you smiled bashfully, too slow to hide it behind your cup.

“No seriously. I didn't get a chance to properly congratulate you.” She let out another frustrated noise, burying her face in her hands. “God it was your big night! And you spent it at a stupid party watching me make an ass of myself.”

If you were perfectly honest, the celebrity after party scene wasn't really for you. Or maybe just parties where you only knew one or two people tops. But you had to admit, it was a kickass party. You wouldn't expect anything less of playboy billionaire industrialist, Tony Stark. All of a sudden, your moment by the piano felt just a little bit less special.

“Hey, what are friends for? And you were right, I did need a break,” you admitted, taking your stack of lemon ricotta pancakes from the server.

“See? Isn't it nice to step away from your work once in awhile just to breathe?”

It was. It was hard sitting through the night of awards and awkward for the first couple of hours at Tony's party. But the rest of the night and this morning wasn't terrible. And best of all, you hadn't felt a shred of guilt. Was this how the other half lived? The ones who weren't obsessed with and addicted to their jobs?

Beth glanced up from her egg-covered avocado toast when her phone began to play a generic xylophone ringtone. One glance at the screen caused her to nearly choke on her bite. With one hand she swiped open her phone to answer the incoming call.

“Tony! To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, her eyes widening under her shades.

You tried your best to look nonchalant as you shoved more pancake into your mouth but you could feel Beth's burning gaze from across the table. As if on cue, she kicked your shin and gave you a look.

“No way. I'm actually having brunch with her right now.” A pause. “No, I'm not pulling your leg. Do you want to talk to her?”

Your fork clatters to your plate. You shake your head wildly and make cutting motions across your neck in an effort to clearly state nonverbally that you do not want to talk to him. But Beth ignores your futile attempts and smiles knowingly into the receiver.

“Ok, here she is,” she says before offering her phone.

“No,” you whisper harshly. There's no way she can mistake that.

“Just take the phone!” she whispers back, shoving it at you.

“No!”

You could have sworn her eyes were twitching in anger as she shakes it in your face. “Take. The. Phone.”

“Fine!” you finally relent, and Beth tries to hold in her giddy cheer as you take her phone from her hands.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself, putting on an agreeable expression even though your rational side knows he can’t see your face.

“Hello?” you greet, already wincing at how stupid you must sound.

“Hey, you,” that caramel smooth voice greets in return. “Guess who’s getting their piano tuned today? Let it be known that I make a conscious effort to keep my promises.”

You can feel yourself smiling into the receiver. “Congratulations. That sounds like it was a big step for you, getting on Google and then making a phone call,” you say sarcastically.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, seemingly unaffected by your tone.

“I literally just suggested that you should get your piano tuned.”

“I remember a lot more than just a suggestion. There was a bit of lecturing too.”

And yet you could make the instrument sing like no one else could. Tony Stark was a man of science through and through, but what you did last night on that piano was nothing short of magical.

“Well when you hear what it sounds like afterwards, you’ll thank me,” you told him, idly poking at the sunny yolks of your eggs.

“I was actually hoping I could do that in-person. Over dinner?” asked Tony. “I also have a proposition for you, a job offer regarding the Stark Expo. You might have heard of it?”

Beth looked up when she saw the carefree smile die on your lips. ‘What happened?’ she mouthed, gripping her fork tighter.

You shook your head, placing your hand over hers. Tony heard the sound of metal scraping against concrete as you stood and pushed your chair back. You briefly excused yourself from the table, earning a sympathetic look from Beth.

Tony paced his garage as he waited for you, to hear the sound of your voice again. Even if what you were about to say was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

“I’m not really taking any new jobs right now. Sorry,” you said as matter-of-factly as possible, but the slight crack in your voice was unmistakable. Oh, there was definitely a story behind that crack.

“Can I ask why?”

“All you need to know is that it’s a personal reason. I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate,” you sighed, leaning against the worn brick wall of the restaurant.

“But I still want to see you,” he said, halting his steps when he had managed to wander over to the Mark 1’s display case. “How about this? Let’s scratch dinner and make it lunch. Zero pressure. Just two friends sharing a meal.”

“So we’re friends now?” you chuckle, tucking your arm across your chest.

“We could be,” you heard the teasing fluctuation of his voice. “That all depends on you.”

If his idea of friendship was casual flirting, you weren’t sure you wanted anything to do with Tony Stark.

“One lunch,” you said. “I’ll hear you out about this Stark Expo job and that’s it.”

“One lunch,” he confirmed. “Come by the R&D campus, I’ll pitch you the best I have to offer, and then after I’m thinking...Sushi?”

“Whose R&D campus? Apple’s?” you teased. “And yeah, sushi sounds great.”

“Haha, very funny. See, look at us, joking like pals already,” he teased back. “I’ll have my assistant call your assistant.”

You breathed out a heavy exhale, pushing yourself off the wall and making your way back to Beth. “So this is really happening…”

“You bet your sweet ass it is, ____,” he paused. “And look at that, the tuner’s here. Give Beth my regards.”

“Will do, Tony,” you replied, the name sounding good on your tongue.

You and Tony exchanged goodbyes before you stared down at the screen where the call had just ended. You tried to make your expression as unreadable as possible when you sat down and handed Beth her phone, but having a blank look was more telling than you realized.

“That slimy little bastard. I’m gonna kick his ass the next time I see him,” she gritted her teeth and gripped her phone in a tight fist.

“Please don’t. He might have a job for me, something to do with the Stark Expo,” you explained.

“Stark Expo? Does he want you to score his walk out music? I don't understand.”

“I guess? He still has to pitch me so we'll see,” you tilted your head casually. “This could be a good in-between project.”

“Do you think you'll have to work with Warren on this?” Beth inquired.

“God no. If I ever see his face again, it'll be too soon. Plus, Tony doesn’t seem like a full orchestra kind of guy,” you shrugged.

“And yet he asked you,” Beth smirked. “Instead of just blasting another AC/DC song.”

“I really don’t want to read into the implications of this,” you pointed your fork at her. “It’s probably just one or two pieces.”

But as you learned when you returned to your cozy Glendale townhouse, Tony wanted much more than just a piece. He wanted the entire pie. And he was more than willing to pay for it. According to his assistant, Pepper Potts, he wanted you to create the walk out and off music for his opening address, a few different area music loops that would be played in the exhibition halls, and all of the music for any promotional material leading up to the event. More details would be given at your meeting, which Pepper and your sweet Craig had already scheduled for this week.

Your plan to take the job, crank out the tracks in two weeks, and part ways with Tony Stark forever was not going as well as you thought. What he was asking for would take at least a month or two if the muses were kind to you, and that didn’t include flying out to New York the week before the Expo to help with rehearsals.

You sank into the pink cushion that your parents had bought for your work chair and resisted the urge to slam your fists on to your keyboards. As you slouched towards the floor, Craig entered with your Oscar in one hand and a cardboard carrier of coffee in the other.

“So this handsome man was by the kitchen table,” he greeted with a cheeky grin on his face. “Oh, and this Oscar too.”

He couldn’t help the soft smile that fluttered across his lips as he held out the bronze statue for you to take. There was a perfect spot for it right above your mantle, next to your other awards and piano trophies. But instead you pulled your iced cappuccino out of the carrier instead, taking a long, quenching sip.

“Thanks, Craig. You're the best.”

He took a sip of his own drink while shaking your Oscar in your face. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Are we not going to celebrate this milestone?”

“We did already! When the nominations came out, remember? That was fun right?” you asked, finally taking the Oscar from his hands and setting it on the mantle after some shifting around.

“I'm just so proud of you. I DVRed the show and watched your part like a million times,” he smiled. “Especially the part where you thanked me, your amazing nephew and assistant that you thought you didn't need.”

“I couldn't have done it without you. And thanks for taking care of this Stark job for me," you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Yeah, what exactly happened at that party last night?” he breathed. “I was trying not to hyperventilate in the middle of Starbucks when Pepper fucking Potts called me. This is huge.”

“We’ll see how it goes. He hasn’t even pitched me yet,” you pointed out.

Craig blinked in disbelief. “What is there to pitch? It’s Tony Stark and the Stark Expo. Why haven’t you already accepted the job?”

“You know why, Craig. Normally, I’m fine with any number of jobs but he’s the last person I want to work with right now. I need to seriously think about this,” you tried to reason.

“Who? Tony or Warren?” he asked sharply. “One is a hot billionaire and the other is engaged. To a sack of flour, might I add.”

Craig was right and you knew it.

Warren was just a crush gone wrong, plain and simple. He was never looking for anything genuine with you. Just someone to inflate his ego. Even now, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel sorry for the woman who would be shackled to that piece of work for the rest of her life.

But Tony… you weren’t sure how to describe where you stood with him yet. Friends seemed like a good place to start and hopefully, stay.

“What if I can't do it?” you sighed. “What if I end up just staring at my computer for two months with nothing to show for it?”

“You don’t need to change a thing,” said Craig firmly, as if it were fact. “The love is still there, ____. And if the love is there…”

“The music will follow,” you finished, echoing the same advice you’ve been giving to all of your piano students.

Now you wondered if you could even follow your own advice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to everyone who left a kudos, comment, or bookmarked this fic. I honestly didn't think anyone would read this but I'm so happy you liked this story even just barely enough to warrant the extra click. You really do keep me motivated and I love every single one of you.

Your immediate thought when you pulled up to the manned gate of Stark Industries was that you should have brought Craig. This was a business meeting after all. Your assistant slash nephew might have been helpful to have around to jot down notes and dates. But that was what the beat-up notebook in your bag was for and Craig had a 7am class this morning. Ok, you really just wanted him here for comfort.

You dug your hand into your equally beat-up leather tote bag and felt around for the various items you had packed. In your heart, you knew you hadn’t forgotten anything but your brain was screaming at you to double check anyway.

Phone. Keys. Wallet. Flash drive for your demo reel. Notebook. Pencil to write in your notebook.

Wait. Where was the pencil?

A tapping sound snapped you out of your thoughts. A burly, armed, and vested guard had approached your car and gestured for you to roll your windows down.

“Appointment number and identification?” he said, mouth hardened into a straight line.

“Right,” you nodded, taking your phone of your purse and pulling up the image that arrived in your email that morning along with your driver’s license.

He took a long look at your ID and the image of you on the email invite before holding up a pocket sized scanner to your screen. You heard a beep before he handed the phone back to you.

“Welcome to Stark, Miss. ____. Just follow the signs for visitor parking,” he said in a dry monotone, gesturing to the closest directional marker past the security checkpoint.

You said your thanks and slowly pulled forward when the gate lifted, eager to roll back your window to trap in the escaping air conditioning.

Once your car was parked in one of the designated visitor spaces, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. Just a meeting, just a meeting, you repeated to yourself over and over. In fact, he would be the one pitching you, not the other way around. You had never been pitched to before, you realized, not like this.

You straightened the ribbon tie on your blouse in front of the visor mirror before stepping out of your car with your best forward. It was now or never, you supposed.

While the entrance to the campus looked more than a military checkpoint, the lobby of the main research and development building was a beautiful open space encased in glass panels and palm trees. As people shuffled in and out of the building you noticed that the atmosphere felt like a Manhattan office building and Silicon Valley startup were fighting an unspoken battle for dominance. In one corner, there were the corporate and legal types with their suits and briefcases. And in the other corner were the engineering and design types with their jeans, hoodies, and buckle-clasp sling backpacks.

A woman with hair the color of embers, dressed in a stylish belted dress, approached you with a smile, offering her hand. You gave her a tentative smile and shook it firmly.

“You must be ____ ____,” she nodded. “Welcome to Stark Industries. I'm Pepper Potts, Tony's assistant and head of operations for the North American branch.”

“Thank you for having me,” you reply, trailing after her as she makes her way towards the second security checkpoint, where everyone else is holding up their badges to an automated turnstile, not unlike a subway station.

Pepper scans hers before entering a seemingly endless code into the provided keypad. When the light on the gate flashes from red to green, she motions you forward. You figured she’s past the point of apologizing for the excessive security measures. Everyone has their own way of rolling out the red carpet.

“To be honest, when Tony said he had already had someone in mind for this, I was not expecting you in the slightest...And I mean that as a compliment,” admitted Pepper. “A lot of people on the expo committee are huge _Glass Blossom_ fans. Myself included.”

“That's always so surreal to hear. I loved the movie too, but I didn't think people would watch it,” you smiled sheepishly. “It’s...not really your typical blockbuster.”

“No, but that's what made it special. I think that's why Tony wants you,” she said, a secret smile tugging at her lips.

Your eyes follow the vast glass expanse of the lobby as Pepper leads you past the corridor of elevators and into a separate room where a private elevator is waiting. She holds her badge up to the scanner and the doors immediately open for her.

“Top floor, FRIDAY,” Pepper called out.

“Right away, Miss. Potts,” a female voice replied, her Irish accent echoing through the small space. “And welcome to Stark Industries, Miss. ____. We look forward to working with you.”

You opened your mouth to tell her that things weren't set in stone quite yet but decided against it. Instead you admired the rising view of the manufacturing campus and part of southeast L.A. that lit up the elevator as you ascended towards the top floor. When the doors slid open, Pepper led you down the only hallway to a set of open doors that housed Tony's office.

Unlike his garage, the decor of Tony Stark's corporate office was minimalistic and completely utilitarian. It had a desk, minibar, framed abstract artwork, and a comfy set of leather sofas. And that was about it. You wondered if it saw much use at all, besides the occasional meeting with potential clients and partners.

As you entered with Pepper, you heard a faint whirring noise as the wooden panels on the wall next to minibar began to open up, revealing a mounted eighty five inch TV with the Stark Expo logo spinning slowly on its screen.

“Hey! You made it,” you heard Tony call out as he stepped out from behind the minibar.

Instead of the deep blue three-piece he had on last night, Tony had opted for a more casual look today. The matching grey blazer was haphazardly draped over the back of his desk chair while his shirt sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. If it weren't for Pepper’s perfectly polished look, you would have felt a tad overdressed.

“Take a seat. We'll get started in a minute,” he winked, placing a cold glass in your hand.

You glanced down at your drink and rolled your eyes, amused. “I do enjoy other beverages besides water, you know,” you quipped but take a sip nonetheless.

“Really? I thought it was your signature,” he quipped back.

“Ok, wise guy, can I at least get a lemon in this or something?”

“FRIDAY?” Tony called.

“Already on its way up, boss,” she replied.

Tony threw you a playful wink before he spun around and went back to setting up the presentation, tapping away at his phone. Pepper gestured for you to take a seat on the couch that faced the TV but she didn’t join you. Instead, she made her way back to the elevator, greeting the person that had just arrived with what looked like a cart.

You were about to take a sip of your drink when a mechanical robot arm hovered into view above your glass with a perfectly quartered slice of lemon in its hand. You said a quiet thanks, thinking that basic manners probably still applied even if it was a robot. The wedge was delicately squeezed into your water before the arm released its grip and dropped the rest of it inside with precision.

It was then that you noticed the arm was attached to a wheeled, multi-level cart filled with various bottles and canned beverages. The arm lowered its hand in what you assumed was a bow before wheeling itself to Pepper. You watched as she spoke a few words to the cart and its arm immediately complied, reaching below for a prepared kettle of hot water and a white china cup for the tea that she had requested. Will the wonders never cease?

“Alright, you’re here for a pitch and I’m going to give it you,” Tony piped up, flicking his fingers across his phone and towards the TV which immediately lit up with images and models.

“Go for it,” you nodded, sitting back in your seat.

“The Stark Expo, my father’s idea for a ‘City of the Future,’” he began, with a flourished click of his presentation remote. “The first one was in 1943 and rumor has it that Captain America and his best friend, Bucky Barnes were in attendance.”

He paced the space in front of the screen as archival footage of floating cars and cordless vacuum cleaners were presented to awed crowds by a man who had the same swagger, polish, and moustache as Tony. Howard Stark, of course.

“Flash forward to a few years ago when I brought back the Stark Expo as a year long exposition in Queens. The premise is simple: the brightest minds of our time pulling together our ideas and resources in order to make the world a better place,” Tony explained, as the black and white reels faded into color as video footage from the current decade of Stark Expos filled the screen.

Even during its time as a weapons manufacturer, Stark Industries was still one of the world’s leading innovators, showcasing both advanced military weaponry and state-of-the-art home appliances for civilian consumer use. Modern Stark Expos of the past few years featured hundreds of inventors and designers presenting their ideas at various booths and stages. Self-sustaining community gardens, a fashion show featuring bioluminescent clothing, and hologram videogame tournaments.

“This year, I wanted our focus to be something different,” Tony smiled, circling around behind the couch. “I wanted to bring attention to the everyday creators, the little guy if you will.”

You were incredibly aware of his presence as he bent down to lean against the back of the seat, his elbow brushing against your shoulder. There it was, that uniquely Tony smell that drove you insane, this time with a slight hint of aftershave.

“Except for very select few, myself included, all of the presenters this year will be startups and small business owners, people who are looking to get their ideas off the ground but need a bigger platform to do it,” he announced proudly.

He also went over the expo’s crowdfunding feature, where guests can immediately pledge money or share their experience on social media during or following a presentation with a swipe of their wristband.

“Now, here’s where you come in,” he smiled, his hands becoming finger-guns aimed straight at you. “Every year, I do the keynote address at the opening ceremony to kick things off. Usually I jump out of a plane in the Iron Man suit but this year, I want to keep things simple this time.”

You heard a scoff from Pepper, who immediately became very interested in her tablet when you turned to glance back at her. The two of you sharing a teasing smile before Tony cleared his throat. You reached into your bag for your tiny notebook, nodding at Tony when you were ready.

“Because, as Pepper loves to remind me, it’s not always about me,” said Tony, giving his right hand woman a pointed glance. “This year, I was thinking of just stepping out from the back of the theater and making my way down the aisle, a couple of waves and handshakes here and there before I get to the stage.”

“So like a normal entrance?” you deadpanned, gesturing with your pencil.  

“Sure,” he smiled. “But with your music to make it slightly less normal. I’m thinking something uplifting but still says that I mean business. Maybe some badass guitar riffs here and there.”

“Uh-huh…”

“What's on your mind?” he asked, noting your wary tone.

You gestured to the screen that was currently displaying a few pictures of the main auditorium in a neat slideshow. The Stark Main Stage was a beautiful amphitheater style auditorium with an open space at the bottom for whoever was presenting. For videos or PowerPoints, the theater had six massive projector screens that could be lowered from the ceiling. They were also transparent so the presenter would still be visible to the audience at all times.

“Well, how fast or slow do you plan on walking down there? Because I'm not sure I want to score something that'll only be played once for less than a minute,” you pointed out, already mentally counting out the bars in your head..

“She makes a good point, Tony. We're better off just finding a song,” advised Pepper.

“But it feels kind of lame to use someone else's song. Plus, you've heard her stuff. It's amazing. I think ____ has the sound I'm looking for,” he explained, ending his words with another dramatic click of his presentation remote.

An amused smile left your lips as the main theme from _Mates for Life_ began to play through the office’s speakers, a song you wrote just days after being passed the gig from your mentor who had to go on maternity leave.

“It’s whimsical but sensual,” remarked Tony, eyes closed in thought. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Have you even seen the movie?” you joked, erecting a barrier for your fluster.

You couldn't let him catch on that he had guessed the basic dynamic of the romantic comedy. An ‘adorkable’ zoologist working at the Central Park Zoo falls in love with a suave and sexy relationship therapist that teaches him the ways of the same sex. Together, they're _Mates for Life._

“No, but I figured once you sign on we’ll have plenty of time to catch up on your filmography,” said Tony nonchalantly. “Or is it discography in your case?”

The rest of the pitch was spent discussing the themes of the smaller sub-areas of the expo and how you would be tasked with scoring each of those as well. You had never scored music for a designated space before. Your heart was already racing at the challenge but you quickly admonished yourself for already mentally accepting the job.

“You have our number. Let us know when you've made a decision,” concluded Tony.

You could only guess what Pepper was signaling to her boss as Tony glanced at her from the corner of his eye and then quickly tacked on, “Preferably by the end of this week?”

Yeah, that was more realistic.

The screen switched back to the original Stark Expo logo but this time with a looping animation of fireworks in the background. The lights returned to their full luster and the curtains that covered the floor to ceiling windows began to retract.

“Right, of course,” you blinked, standing up from your seat.

“Still feeling sushi?” he asked, reaching for the aviators that were tucked into the V of his shirt and jerked his head for you to follow.

“Always,” you smiled.

You, Tony, and Pepper filed into the elevator which descended back down the main lobby. Pepper turned to you with a smile, offering her hand once again with a cordial smile.

“It was great to meet you, ____,” she said. “Please give me a call as soon as you have your answer.”

“Wait, you're not having lunch with us?” you asked, glancing at Tony, then back at Pepper who shook her head.

“I can’t. I'm already late for a different lunch with some board members,” she sighed, glancing down at her watch. “But you know how to reach me.”

You nodded with a smile, shaking her hand one last time. She spun on her heels and headed back to the elevators as you headed for the door. You really liked her. Note to self: have Craig send her a signed copy of _The Glass Blossom_ soundtrack once you got home. The sound of a screeching tires followed by two honks of a car horn snapped you out of your thoughts. Tony waved at you from the driver’s seat of a golf cart before patting the seat next to him.

“Your chariot awaits,” said Tony, but his cocky smile morphed into a frown when you made no effort to move from where you were standing. “Please get in, ____, you’re making me look really stupid, which is incredibly hard to do.”

Finally your feet began to take you towards the cart, a satisfied smile on your face as you slid in next to him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” you chuckled.

His blue eyes shot you a peeved look as his foot eases onto the accelerator, the golf cart lurching forward with a jolt. You shifted in your seat, grabbing the arm bar above you for balance as you glanced around the seemingly endless kingdom of Stark. And seated right next to you was its king.

“Where exactly are we going? I’m guessing we’re not getting on the five in this thing?” you joked.

“As hilarious as that would be, no. Pepper has me on lockdown today so I can’t leave the property. I figured I’d take you to the nicest place here,” he explained, pulling into a smaller building that was on the other side of the facility.

“If you're swamped, we don't have to do lunch. I can just go,” you said, glancing at him as put the cart into park and swiped the keys from the ignition.

“But that was the whole point of today,” he explained. “For us to get lunch.”

“No, I thought the point of today was to pitch the expo,” you corrected him.

When all he offered you was a sly look, you could feel your nostrils flaring in irritation, an adorable reaction that caused him to throw his head back in laughter. You were this close to punching him when he stepped out of the cart and you had no choice but to follow, the two of you making your way towards what looked just another work facility. There wasn’t even an eye-catching fountain or statue by the entrance. How could this possibly be the nicest place on this campus? You could hear and feel the rush of the aforementioned interstate next to you, even with the towering concrete wall that separated you from the road.

As you moved closer, you noticed two men and a woman standing outside the building, chatting and laughing animatedly. Upon seeing you and Tony approaching, one of the men began to wave, gesturing to his two coworkers who lit up upon seeing the head and heart of their company.  

“Mr. Stark!” he said, holding up his hand, which immediately received an enthusiastic high five from Tony.

“Riley! And I see Noah and Tess and are here too,” Tony greeted. “What’s going on? You guys just finishing up lunch?”

“Yeah, you should told us you were coming by. We would have saved some spring rolls for you,” said the woman named Tess, her face reddening as she gazed up at him through her glasses.

“Thank you, sweetheart, but I already made lunch plans today,” he apologized, gesturing towards you. “This is my friend, ____. We had a meeting earlier about the expo.”

But instead of petty teenage jealousy, you were greeted with starry eyes and a million rapid fire questions, which Tony tried his best to answer without giving too much away. Yes, you really did score the music for _The Glass Blossom._ Yes, there was a possibility of you scoring something for the expo. No, you don’t know the lead actors from the movie personally. But yes, you did know the director. A single shared glance with Tony and he was able to read your hint, politely excusing you both from the conversation.

“Keep up the great work, alright?” said Tony. “I expect the world to be just a slightly better place by the end of the week.”

This remark was greeted with howling laughter, while you blinked in surprise. You were witnessing The Tony Stark Effect, first hand. These adorable and brilliant 20-somethings practically worshipped him, and why wouldn't they? He was charming, charismatic, _and_ he knew their names.

“Will do, Mr. Stark!” one of them called as they returned inside.

Tony held the door open for you as you entered the building labeled “Data Analysis and Information Technology.” He gave a friendly wave to the receptionist who was trapped in a phone conversation but waved back with a grin. After taking the elevator to the top floor, you arrived at what looked like a dining hall. A variety of banquet-style and round tables filled the now-empty room. Much like his office, the outer walls were replaced with floor to ceiling windows, taking advantage of the SoCal sun for its natural light.

“This department is one of the smaller ones, so naturally they get the building with the view,” Tony gestured. “Doesn’t look like much now, but it looks great at night.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You were seated at one of the many tables that lined the panoramic view. You were so busy staring at the cars zooming by on the interstate and the extended view of industrial L.A. that you didn’t notice the sushi chef approaching your table with several wooden stands filled with assorted cuts of sashimi and rolls.

“Ah yes, the real reason why I’m here,” you grinned hungrily, reaching for your chopsticks.

Tony feigned offense, clutching at his chest. “You wound me, and here I thought your love for music brought you here.”

And then he waited in agony as you grabbed a piece of fatty tuna and plopped it into your mouth with a satisfied smile, making him wait as it finished melting in your mouth. Money could buy anything, you said to yourself. That was probably the freshest piece of seafood you had ever had in your life.

“It did. That’s why I’m taking the job.”

“I’m sorry, did I just hear you say you’re taking the job?” he asked, a smile cracking at his lips. 

“Yes,” you breathed, shrugging your shoulders just to sag them in relief. “What else do I have to lose?”

Besides your sanity. What _did_ you have left to lose? An opportunity like this came once in a blue moon. Your hard work was paying off through recognition, which meant more opportunities like this. What more could you ask for? You were hardly the type to let something as silly as a meaningless fling get you down. And the cold truth was you knew better.

“Absolutely nothing because you aren’t going to regret this,” he said, holding up his cup of sencha for a toast.

You nodded and lifted yours as well, tapping it lightly against his before taking a well-deserved sip. Because he was right. You were way past the point of regret. It was time to get to work.


	5. Chapter 5

If Tony Stark were a song, what would he sound like?

“Sorry?”

You repeated your random musing aloud as Craig looked up from his laptop, a flicker of curiosity dancing across his soft features as he removed one of his earbuds.

“If Tony Stark were a song, what would he sound like?” you asked, tapping the empty page of your notebook with your pencil.

It was just another Friday afternoon for you and your brilliant nephew. While he was catching up on homework, you were trying to get some work done before your first student showed up for lessons. Your living room looked like a chaotic mess but there was a method and organization to this madness. It was nearly impossible to see the wooden surface of your coffee table with both your synthesizer and Craig’s laptop and textbooks spread out across it.

After your lunch with Tony, you had met with the legal team to discuss and sign the proper paperwork and you hadn't seen him since. However, Pepper and the rest of the Expo committee had put very strict deadlines on the calendar for the coming months so you figured it was best to get to work immediately. And while you knew you had the full support of your peers, there was a part of you that wanted to stubbornly try to tackle this on your own first. But that didn’t stop you from using your nephew as a sounding board.

“Definitely something flashy and stylish,” said Craig. “I mean his colors are red and gold, for Christ's sake.”

“So heavy on the brass, maybe?” you nodded, jotting it down before quickly adding some additional notes underneath.

A strong brass melody would be good, but you didn’t think he would want something like a fanfare announcing his arrival. Sure, he had an ego but with it came style, intrigue, and intelligence. Right now your brain was telling you something on the jazz spectrum, but you didn’t think it was a good idea to settle on a genre so quickly. Brainstorming was always the hardest part but you weren’t shying away from the challenge at all.

“More like heavy on the ass, amirite?”

“Craig…” you warned.

“What? There's literally a whole Twitter account dedicated to Tony Stark's butt,” said Craig, already swiping through his phone.

“After meeting the man twice, I'm not even surprised,” you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the bottom of your couch. “Also, do I need to have a conversation with my sister about what you’re doing on the Internet?”

But you knew any threats to snitch on him to your sister were futile. The only reason she had agreed to let him study business at his dream school was because she knew you were living here too. Her logic was that you could keep an eye on him since you only lived twenty minutes away from the university. But you and Craig both knew that if he wanted to get in trouble, there was nothing you could do to stop him. It was a good thing he liked to devote his energy to the right things.

“See, that's the thing. He's not affiliated with them at all, other than retweeting them all the time. It's completely fanmade,” he explained, ignoring your previous comment and finally showing you the screen.

Lo and behold. There it was. @StarkIndASStries, a Twitter account whose entire purpose was to showcase Tony Stark’s marvelous backside to the world. The most recent tweets were about his night at the Oscars and a few photos of him from this past week while he was in New York. Tony’s own account had around a hundred million followers, but this butt account had almost half that number. An impressive feat for a non-affiliated fan account.

“I don’t know what to do with this information,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Uhh follow it? And stop acting like you’re not picturing his ass right now,” he chuckled before putting his earbud back in and getting back to work.

You frowned and glanced back down at your notebook. You were most definitely not picturing his ass right now. Not even a little bit. You jotted down a few more notes for yourself, a short list of works to listen to later tonight, before the faint humming of an electric car pulling up outside your house snapped you out of your thoughts. You let out a sigh and closed your notebook, setting it beside your your synth.

“Welp...duty calls,” you grimaced.

“Have fun,” Craig teased before promptly turning up the volume on his Frank Ocean album.

It wasn't that you dreaded giving piano lessons. It was more that you hated pulling yourself away from your work. Unless a significant amount of it had been completed, which it hadn’t, you didn’t feel like you were in a good place to stop. You tried not to sulk as you made your way to the front door, reassuring yourself that you were still in the planning stages. Nothing to lose sleep over...yet.

You could feel your footsteps quickening when you heard the slam of a car door followed by the shrill voice of a woman shouting into her phone. You greeted eight year old Tiffany and her mother in the driveway, waving at her little brother who was still strapped into his car seat, already missing the company of his sister.

“She’s still having issues with memorization. She absolutely refuses to play the song without the sheet music,” her mother said by way of greeting as she lowered her phone, putting a hand over the speaker. “I keep telling her she’s not going to have it at the recital.”

“It’s still a few weeks away. We’ll work on it more today,” you reassure as Tiffany dashes up the driveway and launches herself into your arms.

“I saw you on TV!” Tiffany squealed as you both pulled away from your hug but your hands remained joined.

“You did?” you smiled, crouching down to her height so you could flick the plastic Captain America shield tying her hair together as her green eyes darted around your porch, never staying in one spot for long as she took in every little detail of your potted plants.

"Yeah, your face looked weird,” she giggled. “And you cried! On TV!”

“Tiffany!” her mother scolded.

“It’s ok,” you mouthed as you shook your head reassuringly. “I did look a little weird, huh?”

Tiffany grinned as you shooed her inside, her mother watching with a fond but nervous smile as her daughter skipped up the steps and into your house.

“I’ll be back in an hour. I just have to stop by Whole Foods to pick up a few things,” said the mother, holding the phone back up to her ear.

You weren’t sure if she was speaking to you or the person on the other end of the line so you began backing away towards your home. When she immediately began launching into a conversation about the next quarter’s projected budget, you breathed a sigh of relief and ducked back inside.

Craig didn’t look up from his laptop as you walked by the living room and into your study, where Tiffany was already waiting for you at the black Yamaha upright that lived in the opposite side of the room. She had already set her exercise book on the music stand and was going through the hand and finger stretches you had taught her.

“So your mom says you’re having trouble memorizing the piece?” you asked casually, wheeling yourself in your computer chair from your setup to the bench.

“Yeah, it’s too hard,” she whined, looking down at her swinging legs. “Can’t I just do it with the paper? I know how to.”

“I wish you could, Tiff, but they really want you to play without it,” you reasoned.

“Do you play without the papers?” she asked, looking up at you with hope.

You wanted to lie. God how you wanted to lie. But you knew this was the only thing holding her back. She was talented, dedicated, and unlike most other kids you knew, she actually practiced at home. A lot. Out of all your students, you were rooting for her the most. She was just so adorable that you hated to see her disappointed, especially when she had been working so hard.

You nodded solemnly. “It’s a lot of work, but I know you can do it.”

“I just want to be as good as you,” she sighed. “Do you think I will be?”

“You know what?” you smiled, pointing to the first exercise on the page. “If you keep practicing the way you are, you’re going to be _better_ than me. And then maybe one day you’ll get to play for Cap.”

Your heart melted at her excited gasp. She touched the base of her ponytail where the plastic shield sat, as if making a silent promise to herself. Invigorated with motivation, she turned back to the keys and began to run through her warm up scales. Hell, all of your practice meant that you would get to win an Oscar and meet Iron Man. So you wouldn't bet against her.

Almost an hour later, you and Tiffany were making slow but steady progress on getting her recital-ready, memorization included. No tricks or gimmicks. The only surefire way you could think of was repetition. So that’s how you spent the entire lesson, starting with the first bar of the song, playing it over and over again, building muscle memory before adding the next bar.

It was tedious and boring but absolutely necessary so you managed to sneak in a snack break and let her dig into the secret cookie stash you had in your desk drawer. Her mom didn’t need to know about that. In fact, she had bigger things to worry about, like finding a place to park when picking up her daughter.

There was just enough room in your tiny driveway for one vehicle and it was currently occupied by a sleek, cherry-red sports car. The only thing keeping you from letting out a well-deserved, multi-syllable curse word was the fact that Tiffany was right next to you.

“That’s not my car,” she noted, looking at you quizzically. “Is that your car?”

No, it was most definitely not. And yet the driver was absolutely nowhere to be found. You took Tiffany’s hand and led her back to her mom, who was currently blocking one side of the narrow residential road. Unlike previous lessons where you would hold mandatory debrief lessons with the mother and daughter, you only had time to exchange quick goodbyes, clarifying that there would be no lesson next week since the family was going on vacation.

As they began to pull away, you found yourself waving back at Tiffany until her car turn down the street at the end of the road, anything to delay going back inside your house. But the sound of Craig’s laughter was like an alarm blaring in your brain.

You steeled yourself for what was bound to be another wonderful interaction with Tony Stark, a man you seemed to never be able to escape from.

“Just...why?” you asked, throwing your hands into the air.

You had followed the laughter and mirth to your kitchen where you saw Tony leaning against your kitchen counter while Craig was digging through a large yellow pastry box. Upon hearing your arrival, his face and arm emerged holding a crisp, golden strudel with rose-colored jam and a smile that reached his eyes.

“Before you get mad, just know that I came bearing gifts,” Tony began, pointing to the box. “And that Craig let me in through the back door.”

When you shot a glare at your nephew, he merely deflected it with an indifferent shrug. In fact, he looked more annoyed than you. How dare you keep him from enjoying his guava strudel.

“He texted me he was coming,” defended Craig. “And you always tell me not to bug you when you’re in the middle of lessons.”

“Unless it was an emergency,” you finished your strict directions.

“This is definitely an emergency,” interjected Tony, “___, I don’t like being ignored. You don’t call, you don’t text, you don’t email. What gives? We were supposed to be at the airport two hours ago. This is late, even for me.”

“Wait, what the hell are you talking about? What are we ‘late for?’” your eyes widened as you glanced at Craig, who stared back at you like a deer in headlights.

The joking tone was gone as Craig immediately went for his sticker-adorned laptop, pulling up the Google Calendar he used to manage your appointments. As much as you liked to give him a hard time, you knew that he took his job very seriously. He was too smart for something like a scheduling mixup.

“Yeah, the only thing in your schedule today is Tiffany,” said Craig, looking between you and Tony, hoping for some sort of explanation.

“So it’s hardly the kid’s fault. You didn’t tell your assistant that you were going to New York for the weekend?” Tony tsked, shaking his head.

“Why would I be going to New York this weekend?” you shrugged.

“Because you're going to the Edith Emory dinner with me as my guest. I'm sorry, how did you forget about this?” he shook his head in disbelief at your puzzled expression. “We discussed this when you were visiting Stark. I said ‘I hope you'll be able to go with me to this dinner’ and you laughed and said ‘yeah.’”

“I didn’t think you were serious about that,” you reasoned. “Like I thought you were joking. That's why I laughed.”

“Why would I joke about something about something like this? Never mind that. We’re burning daylight here. How soon can you pack a bag?”

“We’re really doing this now? Am I not allowed to cancel?” you asked, reaching for the box of strudels.

But Tony shifted the box further down the counter and away from your grabby hands, his reflexes sharper than ever. His blue eyes spoke volumes as he passed the box back to Craig, who was reaching for his third strudel. Honestly, college kids and their black hole stomachs.

“No, you’re not allowed to cancel. I already told them I was bringing you. I don’t want to be the one person sitting next to an empty chair because his guest ditched him,” he asked, pulling up the invitation on his watch.

A hologram of a white rectangle floated above the face of the watch, the gold script shining from the picture. Sure enough, there was his matching RSVP with both of your names marked as “Attending.” You could see the image perfectly fine from where you were standing, but you knew Tony was angling his wrist towards you just to be obnoxious.

“Well, maybe they’ll serve humble pie at this dinner. ” you quipped, even though you were already backing away towards your bedroom to pack. “With a gold leaf on top.”

Tony rolled his eyes and followed you into your room, watching as you pulled your beat up duffel bag from college. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation,” he explained, sitting down on your bed.

“I really don’t, so explain it to me,” you halted, haphazardly throwing your favorite pair of pajamas into your bag.

During your first lunch at Stark Industries, Tony had mentioned something about an annual dinner with an important New York socialite. There were one or two comments about you attending this dinner alongside him but you didn't think you were supposed to take it seriously, not when Tony Stark was notorious for having a different woman on his arm every week. And you wanted to stay far, far away from anything related to his playboy reputation.

“I’ve been going to this dinner every year since I was twenty one because when my parents died, Edith and her husband offered to take me in. Of course, I didn’t need anyone to ‘take me in.’ I was barely older than your nephew,” he explained, using air quotes at the end.

“But they were one of the few people that weren’t looming around me like vultures trying to take advantage of a kid who just lost his parents.”

His surprisingly sincere words had you slowing to a stop. You sighed and neatly folded the remainder of your clothes into your bag.

“I just don’t get why you’re asking me to go. I’m not sure I’m the right fit for an fancy Manhattan society dinner,” you reasoned, poking your head out from the bathroom as you gather some basic toiletries.

You even threw in your makeup bag for good measure. This was really happening, wasn’t it?

“Plus, don’t you have a million other women you could ask?”

“I do have a million other women I could ask,” he nodded, ignoring the roll of your eyes. “But Edith will see right through it. She wants to meet someone…genuine.”

“What about Pepper?” you offered.

“I’ve taken Pepper five times in the past ten years. Neither of them want her there, trust me,” he groaned, falling backward on to your pillows. “Anyway, she’s too busy running around in Tokyo right now.”

“You mean, running your company?” you teased, slipping your backpack over your shoulders. “While you’re going to classy dinners?”

“Don’t sass me, ____,” he said, picking up your packed and zipped duffel on your way out. “And Edith is one of Stark's biggest shareholders. So in a way, this is work related.”

Craig looked up from his phone when you and Tony finally emerged from your room. “There's probably no point in asking if I can go too?”

Tony glanced at you before giving him a reassuring smile. “Think of it this way, your aunt is giving you the weekend off.”

“Yup. Go home,” you smiled. “Hang out with your friends. You work way too hard.”

“Runs in the family,” teased Tony as whipped his sunglasses out from the collar of his shirt. “Besides, you're definitely coming along for the Expo.”

“Oh for sure,” grinned Craig.

* * *

 

You had packed your headphones and laptop, thinking you were in for a relaxing flight but Tony, who was pathologically late for everything, had other ideas. Your knuckles were white from gripping the handles in his car as he sped down the freeway towards the private airport that housed part of his small fleet of private jets.

As soon as you stepped out of his car and onto the runway, you were ushered on to a sleek private jet with ‘Stark Industries’ emblazoned on the side. A pretty flight attendant was adjusting her hair bun as you entered the lounge-like passenger area, sharing a secret smile with Tony that you had to be blind to miss.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Stark,” she smiled knowingly, all but batting her eyelashes.

“Good to see you again, Stacy,” he greeted, flashing his teeth with a smile.

But a simple hello was all she was going to get today, much to her chagrin. In fact, most of his attention was on the woman in front of him as you made your way through the spacious cabin, trying to take in the various amenities. Spacious reclining seats, two forty inch TV screens, and a mini bar in the corner for starters.

“Real classy, Stark,” you remarked, stopping to point at the retractable stripper pole as you walked past it.

“What can I say? I need my in-flight entertainment,” he winked.

“Oh my god…” you groaned.

But as soon as your back was turned, he gestured for Stacy to retract it back into the floor. Of course The Party Jet was the only one of his planes that was available right now. You had dropped your bag on to ground next to a seat, hoping to sink into the soft leather chair and enjoy your first time on a private jet but the same flight attendant from earlier tapped your shoulder.

“Miss. ____? Mr. Stark asked that I help take your measurements before we take off,” she inquired politely.

You followed her towards the back of the plane to a small bedroom with just enough room for a king-sized bed. She took a piece of tape measure out of her pocket and began to wrap it around you, mentally noting the numbers to herself before moving on to the next position.

“Alright, you're all set. I'll be sending these ahead to New York and they should have some options ready for you by the time you land,” she smiled.

“Thanks,” you replied warily.

By the time you finally sank into your seat with a satisfied sigh, Tony had already made himself comfortable in the seat across from yours, glancing up from his screen when you returned. You took your notebook and phone out of your backpack, shooting a quick text to Craig to let him know you had just boarded. He promptly responded with a ‘have fun, auntie!’ followed by several seemingly random emojis.

“So how’s the stuff for the Expo coming along?” asked Tony, leaning forward in his seat.

“If you’re asking if there’s anything I can actually play for you, the answer is no,” you replied, playing with your headphones that were hanging around your neck. “I’ve only just started brainstorming today.”

“Hey, I get it. Trust the process,” he smiled.

“It’s not that. I’m just…lacking inspiration,” you sighed, twiddling the wire of your headphones between your fingers.

“Is it the ‘personal reasons’ again?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I wish it was. There’s no real easy way to say this and please don’t take this the wrong way…” you began, before dropping the ball, shaking your head furiously. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I’ll figure it out.”

Tony gave you an amused look, leaning back in his seat with a smug smile. “No, what were you going to say. I promise you I can handle it, and I’ve probably heard worse.”

It wasn’t him you were worried about. It was you. You had a million ideas floating in your head, but you had no idea if it was the right call or not. You had a very limited scope of who Tony Stark actually was. It didn't feel right to score something for him when you didn't really know him at all.

“Normally how this goes is the director will send me a few scenes with a sample score so I can get a feel for what they're looking for,” you explained. “For you, I don't really have much to go on.”

“Have you looked at the stuff from previous Expos?” he asked, leaning against his elbow.

“Sort of? But you're not looking for fireworks, dancers, and explosions this time around. Am I getting that part right?”

“You are.”

“My ultimate goal is that when people hear this, they'll think ‘Wow, that does sound like him.’ I want to capture the…”you paused, trying to find the right word. “...essence of Tony Stark in a song.”

For every extra second he took to stare back at you, processing what you just said, you could feel your face beginning to warm up. What could possibly be going through that brain of his? Part of you was hoping he was also secretly a musical genius and that he already had the answer to your problem and you could jump out of this plane and his life.

“And you lack inspiration because…?”

You heaved a sigh. “Because I don't know you. I don't know who you are, only what the media or your reputation says you are.”

“Well, aren't you glad you came on this trip? Here's your chance to see the real Tony Stark up close and personal,” he smirked. “And how up close and personal we get is up to you.”

You let out a guffaw and gestured to the five feet between his seat and yours. “This is about as close as I want to get, thank you.”

He merely shrugged as if he didn't believe you. Hell, you didn't even believe yourself. “Well if you're trying to get to know me, you can ask me anything you want,” he offered before quickly adding, “Within reason.”

You held up your notebook in reply. “I'll get back to you on that.”

“Good.”

The two of you shared a nod of acknowledgement before getting lost in your respective worlds. He returned to his tablet, images and icons beginning to flash and appear on the lens of his sunglasses. A question for Tony quickly popped into your brain, but you decided to table it for now. Instead, you flipped open your laptop and scrolled through your enormous music library. After finally setting on Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood,” you glanced out the window at the clouds that zoomed by, your fingers playing along on your knee.

If Tony Stark were a song, what would he sound like?

Maybe the answers were waiting for you in Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all the beautiful people who have left a kudos, bookmarked, or commented on this. I'm sorry for the slow updates. School is kicking my ass right now, but getting to write this story is a fun break from it all. 
> 
> I realized I probably should have revealed which song the reader plays for Tony in chapter 2. It was "Merry Go Round of Life" by Joe Hisaishi aka the theme from Howl's Moving Castle. Tony kind of reminds me of Howl in some ways so I thought it was a fitting song to play. Also it's a song that someone of the reader's skill could easily play after having a few drinks lol. But since I never named the song it could have been any song of your choosing. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for clicking on this! Your kudos, comments, and bookmarks are so appreciated and always brighten my day.

Visiting New York from LA was like trading one expansive and unforgiving metropolis for another. You wondered how Tony could possibly contain his sanity after having to travel back and forth between the two for so long. Thanks to Stark Industries’ proprietary repulsor technology, the normally five-hour flight had been reduced to a mere three, but tacking on the time difference meant that it was nearly seven pm when the wheels hit the ground. Yet somehow you and Tony were still running late. Luckily, you had the foresight to style your hair and put on your makeup during the latter half of the trip.

“Mr. Stark, the stylist from Chanel is waiting for you and Miss. ____ inside the hangar,” said Stacy as she handed you your duffel with one hand and hung up a corded phone with the other.

“This is so excessive,” she heard you whisper harshly as Tony ushered you off the plane.

Your bags were left with Happy who was already waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. Since Tony obviously didn’t give a damn about his own tardiness, it was up to Happy, most likely under orders from Pepper, to get your asses into high gear.

“Hustle, guys, hustle,” he chided, leading you into the hangar. “Pepper is gonna skin us alive if we’re not there by the first course.”

You turned to make a comment to Tony but he was already being whisked away to a makeshift changing room with a clean and pressed Armani tux already waiting for him on a rack.

You, on the other hand, were shown a small selection of evening gowns from Chanel by a well-dressed young man in a suit. You suspected Tony had went ahead and sent them your red-carpet photos because the available options were all similar in style with slight variations between the six. Happy tapped his watch impatiently as you played spot the difference with yourself, finally settling on the fourth one that featured a delicate floral lace neckline which extended to its quarter length sleeves.

“Excellent choice,” said the stylist as the dress was carefully taken off its hangar.

He helped you unbutton the dress and pulled the curtains in your changing booth shut before leaving you to get dressed. Your clothes hit the floor in a messy heap before you slipped on the provided lingerie and tugged the dress up your form, instantly impressed by how well it fit.

Upon hearing you attempt to button yourself up, the stylist called for you to step outside so he could help you with the rest. You were greeted by a sharply dressed and cleaned-up Tony when you pulled the curtains apart, your footsteps pattering against the cold concrete floor.

“Est magnifique, non?” Tony remarked with a flourish of his hands.

“Oui, Monsieur Stark,” the stylist joked with a grin, handing you the coordinating shoes and diamond-studded clutch.

You rolled your eyes as you turned your back to the stylist, who quickly did up the satin-covered buttons and the metal clasp at the top. You felt a pair of calloused but gentle hands on the back of your neck as Tony carefully hooked the clasp on a thin wreath of diamonds.

“Are we finished here?” Happy inquired, jerking his thumb at the black town car that was waiting outside.

“As we’ll ever be,” replied Tony, offering his elbow.

You gave him a grimace that was disguised as a smile as you took it, your grip tightening as he helped you into the backseat. You checked your reflection in the clutch’s built-in mirror, making sure you weren’t sweating your makeup off. The sound of a bottle’s plastic seal breaking had you peering over the top of your mirror. Tony had broken into the mini fridge and withdrawn two tiny water bottles.

“Nervous?” Tony asked, handing you one before taking a swig of his.

“How could you tell?” you laughed, tossing the clutch down next to you. “Is there anything I should know before we get there?”

“About?”

“Anything.”

Tony shifted in his seat so that he was angled towards you, leaning against the center armrest. You followed suit, fully aware that your faces were oh-so dangerously close. He opened his mouth but you stopped him.

“And don’t say ‘just be yourself,’” you added. “Because I don’t think that actually works.”

“It worked on me,” he chuckled. “Unless everything you’ve told me until now is a lie. But I get the feeling you're not the lying type.”

“If anything, I’m the honest type,” you admitted. “It’s how I deal with you and Beth.”

“Did she tell you that she called me the day after our meeting?” he asked.

Your eyes widened as you jerked away in shock. “What? No!”

“Yup. Threatened to cut my testicles off if I gave you a hard time,” he shared, nodding in confirmation. “And that threat still stands, by the way.”

“But you didn’t give me a hard time. Not really,” you shrugged. “I mean, other than now. Seriously, you don’t know any other amazing women you could take to this dinner?”

“Well, I do and amazing men too, especially in my lines of work,” he paused, letting the implication sink in. “And it’s not like I haven’t brought them before. Is it really so hard to believe that I just want to spend time with you?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around why,” you breathed, rubbing your temples.

“Regardless of what you might think of yourself, you’re more than pleasant to be around.”

You could feel a smile creeping on to your lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, looking very proud of himself. “And to answer your question, no religion or politics at the dinner table and you should be fine.”

“You could have just said that earlier,” you pointed out. “You basically just gave me a more elaborate way of just saying ‘be yourself.’”

“And I’m saying ‘be yourself’ will work because ‘yourself’ is a kickass, Oscar-winning composer,” he explained. “You’ll be fine.”

The backseat of the town car was soon filled with the sound of your uneasy groans of anxiety as it slowly rolled through the city.

* * *

 

The Friday home-commute traffic was brutal but you and Tony managed to arrive at Edith Emory's Upper East Side penthouse with just enough time to spare. Tony thought you already looked miserable in the car, but your face seemed to pale as soon as you both stepped into the elevator.

“It’s just dinner,” he reminded you.

“But it’s never just dinner,” you retorted. “This woman could own all of New England if she wanted to.”

“To be fair, I could too and look at us, we get along great.”

“That’s debatable.”

You had googled ‘Edith Emory’ on the plane and she was no joke. Her family went back centuries and was deeply rooted in Manhattan society and she and her husband were the pinnacle of philanthropy. The Emory Foundation didn’t discriminate when it came to charitable causes, and one of their first recipients under Edith’s helm was Stark Industries. The friendship between the Starks and the Emorys weathered the Cold War, the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, and Harrison Emory, Edith’s only son.

The elevator doors opened to Edith’s stunning art-deco style penthouse, jazz music playing through the multiroom sound system. Tony offered you his elbow and a reassuring smile, which you accepted without hesitation. Alongside priceless framed artwork and marble sculptures were various photos of Edith and her family. Your curious eyes were darting all around the room as the entrance hallway eventually opened into a grand foyer with a bifurcated staircase. Tony hoped that your eyes were too slow to catch the few handful of photos that included him. He didn’t always make the best style choices when he was a teenager.

But instead you seemed to be studying faces, trying to spot Edith in the small crowd of guests. You looked surprised at the fact that half of the guests were more on the elder side while the other half were around yours and Tony’s ages. Despite the glitz and glamour of Hollywood and its premieres and awards, you were completely unprepared for the elegance and grace of the financial elite. He would have thought the innocent, doe-eyed expression was adorable on you if you didn’t look so anxious.

“You’re late, Anthony,” a firm voice stated.

Tony stiffened as an elderly woman hobbled up to the two of you, her elegant, gold-handled cane making sharp raps against the marble floor. The crowd had parted like the Red Sea as she crossed the foyer, glancing over their shoulders as she walked past. What Edith Emory lacked in height, she made up for with sheer presence.

“Edith, you know I prefer the term ‘fashionably late,’” he joked, turning on the charm. “I had to make sure I looked good for you.”

She gave a gruff ‘hmph’ before turning her attention to you, her weary but ever-sharp green eyes stabbing you with apprehension. Just when you were starting to feel Cinderella in your gown, Edith had a way of making you feel like a mouse instead.

“And you must be ____. Congratulations on your Oscar. No small feat, I’m sure. ” she smiled benevolently. “And such a beautiful film. So heartbreaking.”

You nodded, thanking her politely before you glanced at Tony. “Tony still hasn’t seen it.”

Edith’s eyes widened as she admonished him, gently patting him on the chest with the back of her hand. “You invite ____ ____ to my home and you can’t even be bothered to listen to her work?”

“He probably only knows the one song from _Mates for Life_ ,” you teased, smiling up at him.

“Oh for heaven's sake, Anthony. You’re incorrigible,” she sighed, shaking her head with playful disappointment.

“See, Anthony? Watch my movies. I need to eat,” you grinned, trying out his full name on your tongue.

“Well now we all know I invited you because of your charming personality,” he retorted, pouting his lip slightly.

“And her wit, it seems,” Edith added with an amused tone.

As the moments passed, he could practically feel your shoulders relaxing from standing next to you as Edith continued to interview you about the extent of your relationship. How you met after the Oscars, how Tony had tapped you to work on the Stark Expo, and now this.

There was really no way to tell if Edith Emory liked you. But it was very obvious when she didn’t because she tended to frown and condescend. Instead, she was smiling and joking. A promising sign. Sure, the jokes were usually about him but they were harmless. He figured he could take the hit if it meant you were having a good time. Edith promptly excused herself a few minutes before the catering staff began herding the twenty or so people into the dining room, where she was helped into her seat the head of the table by a kind looking woman dressed in a maid's uniform.

When she was halfway across the room, you turned to Tony and let out a huge sigh of relief. He smiled and rubbed your shoulders like a boxer's coach.

“You got this, champ. Don't stop now.”

You and Tony were seated next to each other at the long banquet style table and only a few seats away from Edith and her husband.  When everyone was seated, Edith tapped her fork against her wine glass and the room quieted to attention. She looked out at her guests, her warm smile already showing immense gratitude.

“Before we begin, I'd like to thank everyone for coming to our home. This tradition began because when my son was thirteen. He asked why we never used the beautiful dining room in our home. In fact, he and Anthony loved using it as a hiding spot whenever they were playing,” she said, smiling nostalgically as she gave Tony a fond glance.

He felt a soft hand on his arm, and when he turned his head to look at you, you gave it an affectionate squeeze before turning your attention back to the speaker.

“Since his passing, I’ve promised to open my home and my table to the people who have stood by me and my family all these years,” she continued. “Because life is too short. Cherish the ones you love.”

Growing up with a dad who knew and worked with Captain America meant that the comparisons were never far behind. Howard thought Steve Rogers was a true hero. But when he was a kid, the only other person Tony worshipped, besides himself, was Harrison Emory.

The guy was practically fearless and could climb any tree in a matter of seconds. He was also kind, selfless, and smart. Well, as smart as one could be when standing next to Tony Stark. And worst of all, the thing that Tony both hated and loved about Harrison was that his parents were not shy about how much they loved their son. Hell, Tony did too but he was a hundred and fifty percent sure he would have punched him in his stupid perfect face for giving up college to join the military and get himself killed.

You were watching Edith describe her perfect son with rapt attention, just like everyone else. And he knew that look, that long wistful romantic gaze that nearly every woman had when Edith talked about Harrison. Something about him always awoke deep-seeded romantic fantasies about your typical boy-next-door sweetheart. Something that Tony could never relate to in any known alternate universe. He might as well have been invisible.

“That was a sweet story,” you said quietly when Edith finally took her seat to light applause.

The room quickly toasted to Edith and her family before growing to a dim murmur as the table began to greet and converse as the first course arrived.

“Yeah, Harry was a great guy,” he nodded, giving his thanks to the server that placed a delicate duck confit salad in front of him. “But you probably would have hated him.”

“What? Why? You just said he was a great guy,” you raised an eyebrow.

Tony halted his fork so he could reply, a cheeky smile on his face. “He hated the piano, like with a passion. Edith made him learn when we were kids and he absolutely hated it.”

“No way.”

“I swear it on the man’s grave. He would bitch about it for hours after his lessons, and he was god awful at it,” Tony reminisced. “But he never once complained in front of his parents, so they thought he loved it and kept paying his teacher.”

“It sounds like you two were close,” you smiled.

“He was like the older brother I never had,” admitted Tony. “And then one day, he was just gone.”

The worst part was when his parents told him that Harrison had enlisted, there was a part of him that already knew he would never see him again. Tony would never get to thank the guy who took him on golf cart joyrides and taught him how to drive when he was ten. And Harrison would never get to thank Tony for figuring out how to fix the engine after one particular joyride gone hilariously wrong.

Dinner passed uneventfully, but Tony knew that it would have went by like years instead of hours if it weren’t for you keeping him company. While the two of you were seated next to each other, you found yourselves speaking to the folks on either side and across from you.

You were about to tap the delicate shell of your caramel creme brulee when Edith called your name from the head of the table. “Anthony tells us you’re quite skilled on the piano. I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise given your occupation.”

Edith hadn't exchanged more than a few words with you for the entire five course meal and now she was finally addressing you. Tony had considered it both a blessing and a curse. But now that doe-eyed look from before had evolved in a deer on the train tracks look. Your silent pause had the table laughing in good nature as your smile returned.

Whatever you were about to say, Tony knew it was going to be incredibly modest and a major understatement of your talent. He also knew that you were hoping it was just a simple question and not a roundabout way of asking you to play a song after dinner.

“I wouldn’t say ‘skilled,’ but I know how to play,” you said, shrugging apprehensively.

“Could we trouble you for a song?” asked Edith graciously.

“You can trouble me for as many songs as you like,” you nodded, sitting up straighter at the thought of being able to play.

“So Edith gets as many as she wants but I only get a song and a half?” Tony teased, leaning on his elbow.

“Because your piano sounded like a ghost had been living in it for five centuries,” you teased back.

To which, everyone at the table laughed at. Genuinely too, not a pity laugh. Seriously, what was going on? He was supposed to be the funny and charming one. Not you. In fact, he brought you here so he could have someone to banter with on the very off chance that his jokes weren't hit their mark. But you seemed to stealing the spotlight. Not that you were stealing it maliciously. More like the spotlight loved you and couldn't get enough of you, which should have been exhausting for an introvert.

“And here I thought, my favorite night of the year couldn't possibly get any better,” said Edith. “Thank you, ____.”

“It would be my pleasure,” you smiled before returning your complete and undivided attention to the dessert in front of you.

“Show off,” he murmured childishly, side-eyeing you from his drink.

“Excuse me?” you smirked, craning your head to face him. “What happened to ‘I could just learn the piano anytime I want because I'm a genius blah blah blah…’”

“First of all, wow, that is an awful impression of me,” he retorted.

“Thank you,” you replied sarcastically and unfazed.  

“Second, maybe I'm off my game because you look so stunningly beautiful tonight. It's doing something to my brain. Are you secretly a mutant with mind control powers? Or a shapeshifting alien...with mind control powers?”

But his recycled advances had no effect on you, and he was undecided on if that bothered him or not. In fact, it rolled off you like rain on a windshield as you let out a carefree laugh.

“Ooh, Tony,” you winced, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Now you're just being a sore loser. Maybe I'm just a delightful person. Have you thought about that?”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” he winked.

Now with something to look forward to on top of night caps and bridge, Edith’s guests began to crowd the modestly-sized parlour. You weren’t surprised to find that she had the exact same piano as Tony. But when you lifted the cover and pressed your fingers against one of the keys, its tone was clear and precise. You tried a few more keys before you glanced at Edith, gesturing to the case. She gave you a nod, and you slowly lifted the case and propped it open with its stand, revealing the soundboard, pins, and hammers underneath. Everything was in pristine condition and not a single ghost in sight. You returned to the bench and stood over the keys, trying a few more keys and then a simple C scale and watching as each hammer struck the strings dutifully.

You tilted your head as you stared at Tony deliberately, as if to say, ‘See? This is what a piano is supposed to sound like.’ You held his gaze as you playfully slapped your clutch into his chest, the back of your fingers brushing against his arc reactor. He replied with a cheeky grin as his blue eyes never wavered from yours, his hands coming up to hold the clutch. The back of your gown and its flowing skirt was straightened out at your feet before you took a seat and pressed your foot down on each of the pedals, nodding in approval before turning to Edith.

“Any requests?”

“I think it would be something special if we were able to hear pieces played by the very person that composed them. Don’t you think?” she smiled, turning to the small crowd.

You nodded and turned back to the keys, fingerings hovering over them as you pondered which piece to play first. Seeing the keys of a Steinway took you back to the night of Tony’s after party, where he was seated right next to you as you played one of your favorite pieces of all time. You recalled the words you exchanged with him when you first met about the creative intimacy of a project.

It had been ages since you had played any of your pieces, let alone performed them, even if it was for a small crowd. But once they were out into the world, you felt a bit of melancholy with a whole lot of sentimental. With CDs on store shelves and playlists on Spotify, they didn't feel like yours anymore, not until you took your seat on that bench and lost yourself in the dance.

The happy sigh that left Edith's lips when you played the first few measures had you smiling softly to yourself. You figured you should start with something from _The Glass Blossom_ , while it was still fresh in your audience's minds. The scene from the film flashed through your head as you played, flashing memories of you reciting the actors’ lines while you made your morning coffee, returning to your desk to find the clip at the same place.

“A Heart as Open as the Sea” was the soft ballad that was the main theme for the film as well as its protagonist, a quiet teenage girl who lived in a small fishing village in Iceland. You remembered the mousy actress' teary-eyed face as she graciously accepted her own bronze statue, your song reverberating through the theater. Now it was slowly filling the space of Edith's entertainment parlor as you willingly ventured into your personal forest of sound.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Tony wondered if he would ever get to hear you play more than one song in a row. And just when he thought he was making some serious headway with you, his watch pulsed twice. He didn’t have to spare a glance at his wrist to know that a red letter “A” was flashing on the tiny screen.

With your clutch still in his hand, he glowered down at his watch as The Wrecking Crew was doing what they did best in the middle of a crowded Midtown intersection. The delicate notes of your music were being interlaced with the harsh crashes and bangs of a typical superpowered smackdown. Sirens were blaring in the distance while the colorful language that was being shouted made him glad that he put in his earpiece earlier.

He couldn’t help but wince as the live feed showed Wolverine taking an enchanted crowbar to the face, slamming into the side of a parked car. Without missing a beat, he peeled himself off the door of the car and cracked his neck before jumping back into the fray with a roar. Brush it off, Logan, Tony mentally sent to his teammate as a peeved Carol Danvers appeared on the screen, speaking into her Avengers ID card.

“I know it’s your night off and all, but we could really use a hand, Tony,” she reasoned, the camera flinching and shaking as she zipped backwards to avoid the giant wrecking ball flying towards her.

The picture zoomed in and out of focus and he got a good view of cracked concrete as Captain Marvel hurtled a beam of white hot photon towards her attacker.

“Now’s not really a good time,” he whispered, quietly slipping down a nearby hallway to get some privacy. “Who else is there?”

“Me, Spiderman, both Hawkeyes, and Wolverine. Jan says she’s en route,” she reported. “Ugh, I can’t do this anymore. Switching to voice.”

Her feed was cut to static as she slipped her card into one of her suit’s pockets and flew down to assist her teammates. Instead, Carol’s smiling face appeared on the build in AR HUD along with a speaker in the corner of her portrait. He could still the sounds of the ensuing fight as arrows whizzed by followed by the trademark _snikt_ of adamantium claws.

“Sounds like you’re plenty covered to me,” said Tony, even though he had already sent the order to FRIDAY for his armor.

“Well, duh we’re covered here, but this smells like one giant distraction to me,” she explained with a grunt, as she grappled against the Piledriver, holding back his metal fists with her own glowing ones.

“She’s right, boss,” FRIDAY’s voice piped up. “A few of the perimeter sensors at the Expo site were tripped fifteen minutes ago. Whoever it was even tried to wipe the logs from my database. How rude.”

Tony let out a sigh, sparing a glance towards the parlor, where you were on your third song with little pause in-between each, your audience absolutely enraptured. God what you must think of him, if you even noticed he was gone.

“Alright, I’m on my way to the site,” he told Carol, as he slipped into one of the guest rooms that featured a French door balcony, the cool night air hitting him like a bucket of water to the face. “Would be great to get some backup.”

“Dr. Strange is marked as ‘available.’ Shall I contact him?” FRIDAY asked once, as soon as his armor’s faceplate snapped shut over his profile. “Or should I say, ‘the doctor is on call,’” she added cheekily, the smile obvious in her synthetic voice.

“Yeah, do that.”

Hopefully the sound of applause for you was loud enough that they couldn’t hear Iron Man taking off from the balcony and racing across the Manhattan sky like a blur towards Queens. He rolled his shoulders a little from inside his suit, gearing himself up for the bout that might be coming in the next few minutes.

“Tony,” he heard Stephen’s familiar baritone on the other end of the line. “I’m guessing this is about the Wrecking Crew? I’m already on my way--”

“Actually, doc, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It was super hard trying to decide which Avengers would make an appearance, but honestly, I just picked some of my favorites for that last scene. Will they or any other Avengers return in future chapters? We'll see. I really want the emphasis of this story to be about Tony and the reader.
> 
> I listened to the Final Fantasy XIII theme alot while writing the last two scenes so I could get into the reader's headspace. I like to imagine that the main theme of The Glass Blossom sounds a lot like FFXIII's Fabula Nova Crystallis.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I hope the longer chapter made up for it. As always, I love and appreciate all of your kudos, bookmarks, and comments. Thank you for being patient!

You played and played for what felt like hours, but actually turned out to be a full set. And knowing yourself, you could have easily played for another hour. Edith certainly didn’t look like she minded, but some of the other guests had slowly slipped away to grab more drinks, others conversing quietly at the edges of the room. It was why you had shifted away from the emotional ballads and overtures of _The Glass Blossom_ to the atmospheric jazz and upbeat tones of your two rom-coms.

When you felt Edith’s hand on your shoulder, you finally emerged from your forest to find her and Tony the only ones left from your audience. “That was lovely, ____. Thank you,” thanked Edith, as Tony offered a hand to help you up from the bench.

“I believe this belongs to you,” said Tony, handing you your clutch with a pointed gaze. “You got a couple of messages.”

“Thanks?” you reply warily, digging inside for your phone.

Tony watched as the screen of your phone lit up, displaying five new messages. All from Tony. You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, poised to make another remark when he cut you off.

“Shall we go outside? Get some air,” he interjected, gesturing to the second floor.

“Yeah, sure,” you turned to Edith. “Excuse us.”

Your nostrils were flaring out of control as Tony practically dragged you up the staircase and towards the west wing balcony. You welcomed the cool night air as you went to the edge and leaned against the stone railing, waiting patiently for Tony to explain. He owed you that much for his odd behavior.

Except when he closed the doors shut behind him, the image of Tony in his tux flickered in and out of focus like a broken projector until you were met with a taller brunette male with a sharp jawline and stylish, neatly-trimmed goatee. He wore a cerulean blue tunic with a cross embroidered down the front, charcoal pants, yellow elbow-length gloves, and a red cloak that billowed behind him in the wind. If you stared at the golden eye-shaped amulet that held his cloak closed, you could have sworn it was winking at you.

“God that spell was exhausting,” the peculiar man sighed, running a hand through one of the white streak above his ears. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and occasional Avenger.”

“I’m ___ ___, film scorer...supreme?” you chuckled at your own joke, accepting his handshake when he offered. “I’m guessing Tony has a world to save?”

“Oh it’s nothing of that magnitude. It’s more of a local issue,” he explained, as if it were just another Tuesday. “He explains everything in the texts.”

You gave him an incredulous look, your phone poised and ready in your hands. When you made no move to unlock it, Strange glanced down at the screen impatiently and then back up at you. He pursed his lips together, eyes widening as he suddenly became very interesting in looking everywhere but directly at you. You had no doubt in your mind that this man ran in the same Avenging circles as Tony.

“If you’re wondering--”

“Anthony! ____! Are you two still out there?” the sound of Edith calling for you interrupted him as you heard footsteps and the wood of her cane knocking against the wood on the floor.

“Shit,” Stephen cursed, waving his hands in a seemingly random pattern in front of him as sparks begin to fly from his fingertips as he gave you a pointed glance. “Just play along.”

Just as the door to the balcony swung open, Stephen seemed to blink in and out of sight again before greeting Edith with a smile.

“We were just admiring the view,” he explained, taking his place beside you.

Without batting an eye, Edith smiled and gazed out towards the city, watching as cars zoomed by and Central Park loomed below like a magnificent enchanted forest in the midst of the concrete jungle.

“I’ll never get tired of this view,” she sighed before smiling up at you two. “And I’m so happy I got to meet you, ____.”

“The pleasure was all mine. You have a beautiful home,” you said, nodding politely. “But I guess I really should be thanking Tony for bringing me.”

You felt pressure in your side as Stephen lightly elbowed you. And yet he never missed a beat when he put on his best Tony impression. “You know me. I can never pass up the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful woman. Or more than one, in this case.”

Edith let out a laugh, unbridled and honest. “Watch out for this one, ___. That mouth of his always gets him into trouble.”

“Will do, Edith,” you smiled.

“Well, I won’t keep you two any longer. Especially since it’s way past this old bird’s bedtime,” she winked before shaking your hand one last time as you exchanged goodbyes and goodnights.

When you were both sure that Edith was gone, the faint glow that radiated off Stephen faded as he flickered in front of you again.

“How are you doing that? She really thought you were Tony,” you asked, rubbing your eyes to make sure he wasn't just a figment of your imagination.

“An illusion spell. I simply convinced her that she was seeing and hearing Tony. I didn’t bother with you since you already know I’m not him,” he explained. “It’s a lot harder to convince someone who’s already been made aware.”

“Right…magic,” you nod, finally unlocking your phone and seeing the string of texts that Tony had sent you.

_Gotta go! Avengers emergency. You know how it is. The show must go on, for both of us. See you later tonight hopefully. Don’t wait up for me._

_I just realized how curt I might have sounded in the last message and I apologize for that. Please don’t think I’m trying to ditch you because that’s the last thing I want._

_I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise._

_And I wired you some money for a halal truck because I know you’re still hungry. You can’t say you went to New York without trying a gyro._

_Also I told Dr. Strange to make sure you got home safely. Go easy on him. He doesn’t get out much._

“He’s saying I don’t get out much, right?” Stephen rolled his eyes, brushing some invisible dust off the collar of his red and gold cloak.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know you so I can’t refute that,” you pointed out.

“How much he give you for halal?” asked Stephen, glancing towards your phone.

There was another notification in your phone from a money transfer app. You didn’t want to think about how easy it was for him to find and add you, but lo and behold, he actually sent you money for food. Way more money than you needed.

“A hundred bucks,” you laughed as Stephen rolled his eyes.

“That man has no concept of money.”

“Did you want to come with me? I know you’re supposed to get me home or something, but we can make a pit stop,” you shrugged casually.

“Why not? Tony’s buying.”

He held out his arm and drew circles in the air in front of him. A window opened in the crackling sparks of magic to reveal what looked like a random street in New York, but you could already smell the spinning cones of meat, fragrant spices, and delicate herbs in the air.

“...it’s a portal.”

“No shit,” you chuckled in wonderous disbelief, resting your wrist against your forehead.

Stephen jerked his head towards the portal, motioning for you to follow as he calmly stepped through, as if it was just like any other doorway. You let out a dry laugh before picking up your skirts and following after him. The air went from breezy to humid as you went from a penthouse balcony to a busy street in a matter of seconds. His clothes also vanished as his tunic and cloak morphed into a more civilian-friendly suit and tie to blend in with your formal attire.

“His apartment isn’t too far from here. I’ll take you up after,” said Stephen as the two of you join the short line alongside a large, yellow food truck that was covered from hood to trunk in highly-saturated images of food.

“His apartment?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought I had a room booked somewhere else.”

“He told me to take you to his apartment. I thought you two were…” he let his words trail off, hoping they would speak for themself.

“Yeah, he wishes. We are workplace acquaintances. At best,” you clarified. “And I don’t even work for his company. I’m a ‘commissioned artist on contract.’”

Stephen opened his mouth to say something, but closed it instead, as if rethinking his words. Then finally tried, “Well...it’s his loss?”

“Oh no no, let me make it clear. I am no Pining Priscilla or Lovestruck Lydia either,” you further clarified.

“Amazing alliteration.”

“Likewise. As I was saying, my relationship with Tony is strictly business,” you nodded to yourself, deciding on both where you stood with Tony and what you were going to order.

It was looking to be a fine night for falafel.

“My apologies. With Tony, one never can never tell the difference,” he sighed wearily.

“Thanks, doctor,” you smiled softly.

“Just Stephen is fine,” he corrected. “And for what?”

“For doing this, taking me home. Does he make you do this all the time?”

“Next!” the tired man behind the raised counter of the truck called out.

The two of you shared a giddy smile as you quickly placed your orders, knowing that it was literally at Tony’s expense. You were handed a grease-stained receipt before you quickly stepped out of line. Stephen led you to a large concrete planter that doubled as a bench, where you took a long, well-deserved seat. You were this close to kicking off your heels and hurling them into the street.

“No, not all the time and never anything like this. In fact, Tony seldom asks anyone for help, for anything.”

“Seriously?” you deadpanned. “We’re talking about the same guy right?”

“Let me rephrase,” he started. “He never asks for help unless it’s important to him.”

Stephen took a moment to let the weight of his words sink in. “Believe it or not, he does value your time and he just wants to make sure you're safe.”

* * *

 

Two foil carry-out plates later, Stephen conjured a portal to Tony Stark's stylish penthouse apartment in SoHo that was often used as a low profile safehouse that didn’t sacrifice the luxury to which he was accustomed. If you were completely honest, you thought he lived in the shiny Stark Industries corporate skyscraper downtown, but that was only one of his places of residence, not including the Malibu beach house and the apartment in the Avengers facility in upstate New York. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and occasional Avenger, tells you he can't stay for a midnight snack because he has to assist the other Avengers with the situation in Midtown. You said goodnight and thanked him again before he vanished through another portal.

Your trusty duffel sat in the middle of the large open concept living room with a note attached from Happy, letting you know that he was only a call or text away if you needed anything. Even though the apartment was empty, you could still hear a faint humming sound from the appliances and other devices that lined the walls of the space, along with a panoramic view of the New York City skyline.

You took a moment to let out a weary sigh of relief and embraced the peace and quiet before you took out your phone and opened the group of messages from Tony, re-reading them a few times to yourself. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you pondered how to reply, if he would even reply. Every group of texts or call from Tony came from a completely different number for security reasons.

“Good evening, Miss. ____. I have just informed Tony that you made it back safely,” a female voice piped up from the ceiling.

“Jesus! FRIDAY? Is that you?” you jolted, putting a hand on your beating chest.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m connected to the apartment and Tony asked me to assist you with anything you might need for the duration of your stay,” she explained, the surround-sound speakers allowing her voice to fill the space easily.

What you thought was the thermostat lit up with the Stark Industries logo, transcribing her exact words on to the screen. You had never engaged in an actual conversation with an AI before, but FRIDAY's friendly tone and highly advanced speech patterns made her seem more human than machine. You didn't know if that was frightening or amazing, but either way, it was a testament to Tony's brilliance.

“Do you know how long he’ll be gone?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“It’s hard to say. He’s currently engaged in battle with a few adversaries. For security reasons, I cannot say which but I’m sure the press will release the information by tomorrow.”

“But he’s...ok, right?”

“I frequently do full body scans on Tony whenever he’s in the suit. As of the last one, my readings say he does not have any life-threatening injuries,” she reassured you.

You let out a sigh and reach for your duffel, hauling it over your shoulders. “I don’t suppose you can you warm up the shower for me, FRIDAY?”

“Of course. It’s down the hallway to your left. Shall I queue up a playlist for you as well?”

“Sure, let’s see what’s on Tony’s most played list,” you smirked, glancing at the ceiling as you followed her directions.

“I think we’re going to get along just fine, Miss. ___.”

“Please, just ___ is fine and I think so too,” you smiled, resisting the urge to jump for joy when you followed the sound of running water to find a rain-style shower head was already switched on and waiting for you.

It was a lot faster getting the dress off your body than it was putting it on, the buttons snapping off with ease. As soon as it hit the marbled floor in a crumpled heap of embroidered lace and expensive fabric, the Red Hot Chili Peppers began to play through the speakers, which didn’t surprise you at all. A grin tugged at your lips as you stepped under the shower head, the music crescendoing to accommodate for the sound of the rushing water.

You felt a little guilty for staying under the shower a little longer than usual, but the hot water did wonders to relax your muscles. Dressed in your favorite Pusheen pajamas, you set up shop in Tony’s living room on the coffee table, hoping for some sense of familiarity even though you were in a different city and a different home. Nothing could ever replace the comfort and familiarity of your home studio, but the bright lights and ambient sounds of the city were oddly soothing.

Starting is always the hardest part, you reminded yourself as you flipped through the several half-sized ideas that you had scrawled in your notebook, heaving a long sigh when you realized just how many bullets you had down. At least you weren’t completely uninspired, you thought dryly as you tried to decipher some of the more rushed messages. With a few reflexive taps, you changed the setting on your synthesizer from ‘piano’ to ‘acoustic guitar’ and began working on what would eventually become one part of the underlying rhythm of the track. It was light and fun despite its lax tempo.

The sky was dark, but with each new bar and measure that appeared on the timeline, the image became clearer and clearer in your mind’s eye: a summer day in the life of young Tony Stark and Harrison Emory, the two boys laughing and playing in their rolling upstate New York estates. When the days were long and they lived without a care in the world, before the frown lines, smile lines, and dark circles appeared on Tony’s haggard profile.

You nodded along to emerging music as you tried to capture what you saw in the photos hung in Edith’s gallery: a simpler, happier time. With one hand on your laptop’s keyboard and the other on your synth, your thumb tapped the spacebar and the arrow keys back and forth as you replayed a troublesome bridge. Your tracks always seemed be a series of missing pieces that slowly came together like a puzzle. Sometimes the right piece would come along only after you tried and turned every possible remaining piece in the box.

Even though he hated playing the piano, you still wanted to nod to something that spoke to his character, a kind and selfless boy who never wanted to disappoint the ones that he loved. No wonder he and Tony were such good friends. Maybe you hadn’t quite figured out what Tony himself sounded like, but you hoped that you were at least able to capture another part of his life.

You should have felt fatigued after your long day of piano lessons, jet-setting, and dining, but there was always something energizing about practicing your craft. Music had a way of calming and grounding you like nothing else did. Once you were bitten by the inspiration bug, there was no stopping you. Not even the time difference as you worked well into the AM zone. You finally let out your first yawn of the night at three in the morning, jolting in your seat when your phone began to ring.

“How’s the Big Apple treating you?” greeted Beth.

You heard rustling on the other end of the line as your friend snuggled closer into her girlfriend’s side. You could already picture them sitting together on the couch, a five-hundred page historical nonfiction in Georgia’s hands while Beth studied her latest script.

“To be honest, I haven’t really seen much of it. We landed, went to the dinner, and now I’m back at Tony’s,” you explained, your fingers idly poking the cushions on your headphones.

“Which one?”

“SoHo? It’s huge and I have the whole place to myself,” you smiled, finally moving your sore bottom from the floor to the plush leather sofa behind you.

“He’s not with you? I swear to god…” you could hear her gritting her teeth from the receiver.

“Beth, calm down. He said it was an Avengers thing. I don’t know if it’s on the news yet,” you said, hugging your knees to your chest. “It was insane. He sent one of his friends to pick me up. Stephen Strange? He’s this wizard guy with a cape?”

“I have no idea who that is. Tony never lets me meet his other friends,” she laughed. “He’s probably worried they’ll think I’m cooler than him.”

“You really are though,” you joked.

“Do you have any idea when he’ll be back? I only called because I know the two of you never sleep,” she said, concern lacing her voice.

“No, but they’re keeping me posted...I think. I haven’t heard anything yet,” you sighed, tracing the lines of the leather on your seat.

“I’m sure he’s fine. This isn’t his first rodeo,” Beth reassured you. “Try to get some sleep ok? I know what I just said is going to go in one ear and out the other, but please try.”

“I will,” you replied, eyeing the soft mink blanket artfully draped on the opposite arm rest as you and Beth exchanged goodbyes.

Sleep, the ongoing adversary to your productivity, was oh-so tempting. You slapped your cheeks with your hands to wake yourself up and hopped off the couch, bounding towards the kitchen. You were planning to get a glass of water, but ended up splashing some on your face instead. Your hands met the granite counter of the sink as you stared out at Tony Stark’s million dollar kitchen sink view.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Beth Caruthers,” FRIDAY’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “I thought I should let you know that Mr. Stark still does not have any life-threatening injuries.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” you smiled.

Sure, it was kind of an invasion of privacy but you supposed it was ok if it was coming from a place of concern.

“You’re welcome. I can also pass along a message to him, if you’d like,” she said, her voice echoing through the kitchen.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, still lost in your thoughts. “I mean, he’ll be ok right? He’s done this before.”

“Analysis of Tony’s previous incursions strongly point to ‘yes, he will be alright, ___,’” FRIDAY replied, and you could have sworn you heard the soft smile in her artificial voice. “But as your friend says, I would strongly suggest you get some rest. Lack of sleep can lead to serious health problems, as I’ve reminded Tony several times before in the past.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you gave in, forcing yourself off the couch so you could save all of your work and shut off your laptop. “But you’ll wake me up when he gets home?”

“Of course, Miss. ___.”

* * *

 

“She asked me to wake her up when you return,” reported FRIDAY.

“Yeah, scratch that command. Just let her sleep,” said Tony as he waited for SHIELD and their cleanup crew to finish. “She’s had a long day.”

“So have you.”

“Don't remind me,” he groaned.

Of course those fuckers went for the main stage. Luckily, only the security staff was present during the attack and no one was hurt. It was hard to view the attack on the Stark Expo site as anything but personal when an anarchist group tries to blow up the only building named after him and spray paints “Big Brother Tony is Watching” and “Fuck Fascist Stark” on the projector screen.

They had to be well-funded enough to be able to hire out the Wrecking Crew for a Midtown-sized distraction. Well-funded but not very experienced since they didn't count on Iron Man actually showing up to break up the party. They weren’t anything more than your average run-of-the-mill privileged college kids who were trying to “change the world.” Tony was almost...disappointed. If anything, the Wrecking Crew was the bigger threat, and he would have flown straight for them after dealing with the Anti-Tony Stark Club if Carol hadn’t called to tell him that they were already done.

“Are we finished here?” asked Tony impatiently, practically pouting.

Maria Hill looked up from digital display on her wrist as she walked by and then down at metal hand that was on her shoulder. Tony promptly removed it, grateful that he still had his faceplate on so he wouldn’t have to face her icy stare. She held up a finger to shut him up as she finished her conversation, most likely with Fury.

“Yes, sir, you heard right. We confiscated an entire backpack’s worth of spray paint,” she reported. “Yes, this is on top of the pipe bombs. Alright, ETA twenty minutes.”

Finally, Maria put her hand down from her earpiece and frowned up at him. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you need to be?”

“It’s Saturday night, Hill. I always have somewhere to be,” he replied. “Actually, it's weird that you don't have somewhere to be.”

“Keeping the world safe is a full time job, Tony,” she sighed. “Some of us don't get a day off.”

Oh the irony in that statement, he thought to himself as he thought of the heaps of prototypes and mountains of paperwork waiting for him in the garage.

“And apparently, I don't give manufacturing a day off either,” he chuckled sarcastically, holding up one of the thousands of leaflets accusing him of hiring child workers, not paying minimum wage, and other Dickens villain crimes.

All of which had already been debunked by the internet without his PR team having to lift a finger.

“Pretty sure you don't want to stay for interrogation,” Maria remarked, watching as her team tossed the vandals into the back of a black armored car.

“Nope,” he smiled. “FRIDAY will get the reports to you by tomorrow?”

“Get out of here, Stark.”

He gave her a wave before taking off to the skies. You must have been passed out or a really deep sleeper because he was able to land on his balcony, disassemble his suit, and pull the creaky door open without waking you. There you were, fast asleep on the couch with a throw pillow under your head and the grey mink pulled over your body. The light from the muted news broadcast playing on the TV provided your face with a soft blue glow as you breathed softly.

Tony carefully tiptoed around you and shut off the TV before rubbing his hands together, staring down at you. How does one approach this?

Yes, he loved this couch and it was definitely suitable for sleeping but he didn't bring you to Manhattan so you could spend the night on his couch. FRIDAY lit the way to the guest room as he carefully pulled back the blanket from your form and slipped his arms underneath you. You went into his arms without a fuss, stirring slightly before resting your head against his chest. Sore muscles be damned, he was going to get you to this guest room even if it killed him.

The landing could have been more gentle as he set you down onto the queen sized bed in the corner of the room. There was no way he could have left you on the couch, not when your body immediately relaxed into the high thread count sheets. You had the entire mattress to yourself but you chose to shrivel up on one side of the bed, immediately hogging all of the covers.

“You’re back,” you whispered with a smile. “And you’re not dead.”

“No, I’m not dead,” he chuckled, taking a seat on the nightstand. “Although, I’m a little insulted that you would even worry.”

You snorted, letting out a sigh through your nose. “Hey, if you died, I’d lose a job.”

“With your talent, I have no doubt you’d find another one, Waters,” said Tony, trying out your new nickname.

Your nose wrinkled, but you didn’t immediately shut him down. He took it as a sign of progress. Tony really should have just said his good nights then and there; your eyes were half-lidded and he knew you were too nice to tell him the get the fuck out and let you go to sleep. But he couldn’t leave, not when he most certainly owed you one hell of an apology.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. About leaving the party without saying anything,” said Tony, his voice betraying him and making it seem softer than it really was. “Believe me, I really wanted to stay.”

“It’s fine. Duty called, right?” you said, giving in and sitting up in bed so you could face him.

Tony let out a weary sigh, leaning back on his elbows. He could feel the fabric of the lampshade behind him digging into his back as he made himself comfortable. “Yeah, but sometimes, I really wish it wouldn’t.”

Your lips pursed into a frown. “Tony, if you’re asking me to get mad at you for missing me playing the piano because you were being Iron Man...honestly, just listen to how ridiculous the first part of that sentence sounds.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you laughed, grabbing the pillow beside you to hug. And now he was the one who desperately needed a hug. “I mean, who in their right mind would ask that of you?”  

You were completely prepared for him to start prattling off names of exes but surprisingly, for once, he was silent. You let out a sigh and playfully swung the pillow at him. He caught it and swung it back with a grin.

“Hey, we both know the score right? You’re…you, and I’m me.”

“Right,” he said, nodding to himself as he stood up abruptly from the nightstand, as if he had just had an epiphany. You just hoped it meant he would get out soon so you could sleep. “I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t? If we didn’t?”

“There it is. The F word again,” you pressed your lips together.

“It’s too late now. We’re friends. Whether you like it or not.”

“Lucky me,” you rolled your eyes with a smile that betrayed your nonchalant front.

“Good night, ____,” he said, finally backing up towards the door. “I would say ‘don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ but I have those sheets steam-cleaned every week so you’re good.”

“Can I sleep now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I love Dr Strange as much as I love Tony Stark, which is with my whole heart. Wolverine is also growing on me. I am just in love with so many Marvel characters, it's insane! This obviously includes the women too, as I am a bisexual human disaster. In between this chapter and the last, my best friend pointed out that I finally have A Type and it's "older men with awesome facial hair." Needless to say, I was s h o o k, but also not surprised. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

Despite your late bedtime, you woke up in a new bed in a new city, feeling more recharged than ever before. Your eyes fluttered open slowly and to your surprise, they remained open without any sign of wanting to doze off. But true to your nature, you took this sudden bound of energy and grabbed your phone instead. Your thumb flicked through your messages and feeds but came up disappointingly empty before you realized you were running three hours ahead. Most of your friends were probably still sleeping off their Friday night hangovers. Meanwhile, you were nearly itching to run a 5k...in spirit.

You let out a sigh and sat up in bed, stretching your arms before peering out the window to your immediate right. According to the projected time on the glass, it was well into nine in the morning and for once, you felt like you had all of the time in the world. It was a beautiful spring Saturday in New York and the entire city was your oyster.

“Good morning, ____. Did you sleep well?” greeted FRIDAY, as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed and headed for the adjoining bathroom.

“I did, actually. I feel great,” you smiled, filling a glass with water to brush your teeth. “When’s my flight back?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she replied. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure the stripper pole is retracted _before_ you board.”

You nearly coated the backlit mirror with toothpaste and spit. Tony probably wouldn’t appreciate it if you made a mess of his guest room bathroom. “Oh, FRIDAY, I’m going to miss these talks of ours,” you chuckled when you finally finished brushing.

“Don’t make it sound like you’re leaving forever,” she lamented. “I already sent Tony’s schedule for next month to Craig. It seems the two of you won’t have another meeting for a few weeks.”

You supposed it made sense. There was a part of you that wondered how you had managed to hold on to your sanity because this past week had been something of a whirlwind that was just beginning to finally calm. Besides, those songs weren’t going to write themselves, as you cynically kept reminding yourself. You shuddered to think of all the things in your calendar that were waiting for you when you got back.

“Has he had breakfast yet?” you asked, patting your face dry with a towel after a wake-up splash.

“Does his usual nutrient smoothie count?” she asked. “Oh, and coffee. He’s had lots of coffee.”

According to FRIDAY, Tony was in his workshop, a workshop that you had no idea even existed. Yet it didn’t surprise you that the man had a work space in each place of residence. It wasn’t too far off from you bringing your portable synthesizer along for just a weekend trip. Behind what you thought was a coat closet, was a glass door with a black frame. You raised your hand to the keypad, fully prepared to type in a series of random numbers when FRIDAY bypassed the door for you.

As soon as the sliding glass door parted, you were hit with the distinct smell of metal, machinery, and musk as well as the sound of what felt like a dozen industrial strength fans running.

“____ is on her way down, boss,” FRIDAY announced as you carefully made your way down the stairs.

“Good, good!” you heard Tony call back. “Gimme a second to make myself decent.”

When he gave you the ‘ok,’ you continued until you reached the bottom of the stairs to find Tony in the middle of wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel.

“What the hell?” you blinked. “Tony, are those the same clothes you were wearing last night?”

He opened his mouth to speak but FRIDAY beat him to it. “Yes, they are. Also, Tony asked me not to tell you, but he fell asleep down here.”

Tony threw his hands up in the air, whipping his chair around to yell at the ceiling. “What is the point of having an AI for an assistant if they can’t even exercise discretion?!”

He had ditched the jacket, shirt, and bowtie, but was still wearing a white ribbed tank top and black pants. The tank top looked like it had been through the trenches. Its brand-new starch white color had faded into a grimed off-white with various brown and black stains on it. And you were pretty sure that part of one of his pant legs had singed off, but you figured you shouldn’t add insult to injury this early in the morning.

“How long have you been up, Tony?” you asked, making your way towards him.

“Uhh...an hour? Maybe two? Who knows,” he shrugged, wheeling back around to face you.

He watched as your eyes danced across the various parts and hardware on his curved desk before reaching his. Tony gave you a boyishly charming smile that hid how tired he really was and suddenly your maternal instincts from nursing Craig after another finals week all-nighter kicked in like a sucker punch.

“Are you hungry? Because I am and I’m going to make breakfast,” you said firmly.

“____, I can just call and have someone bring something up. I know a place that makes the best Quiche Lorraine...”

“So why haven’t you, smart one?” you rolled your eyes. “And who knows how long that’s going to take? None of this billionaire boys’ club nonsense. I’m making you breakfast.”

He gave you a long sigh, but his teasing smile told you that he shamelessly loved this gesture of kindness. “If you absolutely insist…”

Just for this weekend, you told yourself. Then you don’t have to see him for another few weeks. For some reason, that idea didn’t make you as delighted as you previously thought. Instead you tried to block it out by making yourself busy.

“How do you like your eggs?” you asked, closing the fridge with your hip as you juggled a bunch of ingredients.

“Scrambled, please,” he called from the island.

Much to your pleasant surprise, Tony stepped up to help you with breakfast, immediately going to your side to help take the carton of eggs off your hands. While you fried the eggs and bacon, he washed and sliced up some fresh fruit, then slathered a generous pat of butter onto thick slices of freshly baked bread before throwing it on to the heat. Thanks to the professional-grade stove top there was plenty of room for the both of you to stand side-by-side as breakfast slowly came together.

“That looks great,” he said, peering over your shoulder.

“It’s just eggs,” you shrugged, reaching around him for the salt and pepper grinders.

“Oscar winner _and_ skilled chef? Is there anything you can’t do?” he teased, nudging his hip with yours. “Besides take a compliment, apparently.”

“Man, does that part of you ever take a break?” you shook your head in playful disbelief.

His magnetic blue eyes shone with curiosity as he let out a laugh. “Sorry, I can’t help it. People don’t usually make breakfast for me.”

That comment earned him another incredulous look. “You know what I mean. Besides, I’m being helpful right? This is definitely a team effort,” he pointed to the toast, flipping it with a spatula and on to the two plates you had set out earlier.

“And you wanted to go out to eat,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

Tony elbowed you back. “We’ll get that Quiche Lorraine together someday and you’ll eat your words...and the best damn quiche of your life.”

The two of you decided to take your plates out to the balcony, eager to embrace the fresh air. You and Tony shared a brief moment of silence, enjoying the food, the company, and the sights and sounds of the city. The more time you spent here, the more apparent it became that New York City moved on a completely different tempo than Los Angeles. You absolutely loved it and were utterly fascinated by it, but there was nothing quite like home.

“So the plan for today was to take you to the Expo site, but since it’s currently a crime scene, why don’t we just swing by for a bit and then we can go to the Stark Tower so you can see what what have so far for some of the presenters.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” you agreed before popping a grape into your mouth.

“I mean, I have to do a press conference at noon anyways,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I know I seem zen right now but it’s because this whole entire event has been a thin-ice situation for my PR team since before I even hinted at bringing the Stark Expo back and then last night happened.”

“Yeah, what happened last night?”

Tony let out a weary sigh. “A bunch of kids trying to make a statement, which normally, I’m all for. ‘Kids are the future’ and all that, but calling me a...never mind,” he shook his head, cutting himself off.

“What’d they call you? A bitch or something?”

“God I wish,” he rolled his eyes. “And c’mon, I have thicker skin than that. No, they called me a fascist.”

You leaned forward into your seat, narrowing your eyes in mock scrutinization. “And are you?”

“Waters, if I was a fascist, you’d know. Trust me,” he rolled his eyes, placing a hand over his arc reactor and heart.

“So why does it bother you when people say things like that? I mean, fascist one day, capitalist the next, maybe cannibal the next week,” you questioned inquisitively, lifting your cup of coffee to your lips.

“It shouldn’t. It...doesn't,” he said, gritting his teeth as he stared down at his plate. “And I’m at the point in my career where new criticism floods in by the hour. I mean, we both are…”

He let his words trail off. There he went, comparing himself to you again. His eyes stared down at your delicate fingers rubbing the smooth ceramic of your cup, comparing them to his own calloused, dust-and-grease stained ones. There were times when he wondered about the things that made you both so eerily similar and yet so vastly different.

“Anyway, you didn't come here to see me mope. C'mon, the city awaits,” he regaled, grabbing your empty plate from in front of you.

Not to be outdone, you grabbed both of the empty coffee mugs instead before the two of you headed back into his apartment to get dressed for the day.

* * *

 

The site of the Stark Expo was already on edge before you arrived. Men and women in crisp black suits were combing through it with a fine tooth comb and dozens of evidence bags, hilariously shouting while trying to keep their tones hushed over the sound of busy construction that refused to cease. College anarchist clubs or not, Tony Stark was going to make sure the Expo happened.

Similar to the photos of the previous Expo, there was the trademark revolving metal sculpture of the globe along with the eight-story main exhibition hall forming up behind it. There were several smaller buildings that surrounded the globe, each with its own unique design. One resembled a historic library from the 1900s while another was quite literally a glass house, with several horticulturists moving various plants of all shapes and sizes in and out of the several doorways.

You were handed a bright yellow hard hat with the Stark Industries logo decaled on the side before you could approach the site. From a quick glance at your side, you caught a glimpse of Tony's eyes rolling from behind his tinted shades as a stiff man in a suit quickly approached with a security guard tagging along behind him.

“This visit wasn't cleared with Commander Hill,” said the man in the suit by way of greeting.

“And good morning to you…” said Tony, reaching for the plastic ID card clipped to the man’s jacket, but he quickly slapped his hand away, earning a terse glare from Happy. “Wow, you do not look like a Wayne to me.”

Wayne ignored him. “Mr. Stark, I can't let you go any further.”

“Huh…and yet you're letting my employees do their jobs?”

“That's because they've been cleared but _she_ hasn't,” said Wayne, gesturing to you.

“Fine, I hereby grant you security clearance, ____,” joked Tony, knighting you with two quick taps to your shoulders.

“I meant with SHIELD,” clarified Wayne.

You wondered if the permanent frown on his face had always been there or if it was a side-effect of this job. Either way, you didn’t blame him. You wouldn't want to deal with Tony either. But as you mentally took a step back, you realized it was too late.

“Well how soon can you guys run a background check because we’re on a bit of a tight schedule here?”

“Mr. Stark, first of all, no you aren’t. You’re never on a schedule. Second, we have strict orders from Commander Hill that all visitors need to be pre-approved before their arrival, background check or not.”

But Tony didn’t seem fazed at all by these orders. “Are you really going to make me call her right now?”

“I guarantee you, she’ll just tell you what I just told you,” Wayne sighed, trying to hide his triumphant grin.

Tony let out a dramatic, burdened sigh. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

“I’m just doing my job, sir.”

“I’m sure you are.”

You tried to ignore the sympathetic looks you were getting from Happy as Tony turned his back on Wayne, making a huge show of the way he dialed a number and held up his phone to his ear. You felt like you were witnessing a Black Friday Sale meltdown between a retail worker and an angry customer.

“Hey, what’ll it take for you to call off your Waynes?” he said by way of greeting, the friendly smile on his face betraying the tense standoff just moments earlier. “Yeah, I’m trying to bring one ____ ____ into the Expo site for a tour and they’re saying she needs to be pre-approved? C’mon, Hill, she’s with me. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

There was a pause as a terse voice came through on the other end. Tony’s face was impassive until he met your eyes, giving you a reassuring smile before he replied, “Yeah, well I took care of the security breach, didn’t I? Single-handedly, might I add. Can’t you just ‘pre-approve’ this visit now?”

Wayne’s frown furrowed deeper on to his face when he heard a ping go through on his phone. Tony fired a finger gun at his pocket, smirking in victory. “Thanks, Maria. I owe you one,” he smiled, noting the way your eyes widened at the sudden lack of formality.

You gave the frazzled agent (?) a quiet thanks as you followed after Tony, who began his tour with the greenhouse. Except greenhouse would have been an over-simplified way of explaining it. It was more like a man-made rainforest, the humidity hitting you like a brick wall. Yet the heat seemed trivial the lush flora and fauna that surrounded you. According to Tony, most of the researchers had already arrived months ago to resume the work they had already began at home for their exhibits.

And what you had previously thought was an antique library was actually a facade. While the exterior looked like something out of an Oxford postcard, the interior was an exhibit dedicated to the preservation and digitization of knowledge in all its forms, extending miles underground. Tony had dubbed it Alexandria 2.0 and it was to be one of the permanent installations, continuing to store and collect literature, art, and music long after the Expo ended.

You shouldn’t have been surprised but the entire first floor of the main exhibition hall was dedicated to Stark Industries’ illustrious history, but mostly to Tony and his own achievements, from his very first science fair trophy from the first grade to an unarmed duplicate of the latest Iron Man suit. After the second panoramic wall of _Wired_ and _Time_ Magazine covers, you began to feel the weight of your own self-doubts. Unless Wikipedia was lying to you, you and Tony weren’t more than a few years apart and the man had already left behind several legacies with no signs of slowing down any time soon. The same person who had saved the world several times over wanted you to write him a song, several songs. You were dutifully scribbling in your notebook during the tour, but now your pencil had halted, finally at a loss for words. Luckily, Tony was there to pull you out of that too.

“I was saving the best for last, but now it’s more like the worst?” shrugged Tony as he led you to the largest building in the pavillion. “I’m told repairs started immediately so there’s that.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” you reassured.

“Well it’s not that good either,” he countered.

This was it. The Stark Main Stage. This would be where one song of yours would receive the biggest spotlight. Even without seeing the concept sketches and scale models beforehand, you could already see the effortless elegance that was on display before yesterday’s incident. Luckily, the only people stopping you after the main entrance were Stark Industries security personnel, who were glad to let you, Tony, and Happy through the backstage entrance.

Along with Tony’s keynote address, every major presenter at the Expo would be giving their presentation and demonstration in this massive auditorium that was built to hold at least eight thousand guests at a time. You walked past spacious green rooms, dressing rooms, and even a small chemical storage lab, meant for the handful of presenters in that field. In fact, most of the backstage area survived relatively unscathed, as Tony was able to disarm the backyard pipe bombs with ease.

It seemed you arrived just in time to witness the cleanup crew taking special care to remove the vandalized projector screens. The angry words were mirrored from where you stood as you and Tony stepped out on to the stage to look out at the velvet lined seats. A few of the seats were missing chunks of the cushions while other sections had entire rows ruined with the same insults spray painted all along the back rests.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding…” you let out a low whistle. “About any of it.”

“Just a minor hiccup. Nothing we can’t fix with a little time and TLC,” he placed his hands on his hips, nodding to himself as if he was trying to convince himself.

“But y’know, without all this,” you began, gesturing to the senseless vandalism. “The place looks great.”

“I know,” he smirked, moving to cross his arms instead. “C’mon, I’ll show you the control booth.”

As expected, the equipment that made up the control booth was nothing short of top-of-the-line, both industry favorites and a couple of newer parts you didn’t recognize, courtesy of Stark. It was hard to resist plopping yourself into one of the spinning chairs and immediately fiddling with the various dials and knobs on the soundboard. The idea of your songs filling this beautiful space with sound, accompanying Tony as he made his grand entrance. Sure, it wouldn’t reach as many people as the films you worked on, but Tony would. Tony and his larger-than-life ideas and visions for the future that always left the world at his feet, begging for more.

You could barely contain your excitement and even though you knew you still had a lot more work to do, you couldn't just walk away from this tour without giving the sound system a spin. The track you had started last night was far from complete but you had was perfectly acceptable so far, especially for just a test run of the hardware. Just as you were about to suggest the idea to Tony, two sharp raps on the glass window of the door stopped you. Happy lifted up his wrist and tapped his watch, signaling that it was time to go. Tony had a press to meet and you supposed there would be other opportunities.

* * *

 

As the press conference droned on, you sat outside in one of the chairs, fiddling with your phone. There was a flat screen TV mounted to the wall in front of you that was airing a live news coverage of the press conference. Tony’s voice echoed through the hall as he expertly fielded questions from the ravenous reporters. Sometimes it was a bunch of jokes to distract from the fact that he was spinning a couple facts. Other times, it was surprisingly sincere and honest responses that had the crowd nodding and shooting their hands into the air for questions. Somehow he ended up sitting on the floor of the stage, forgoing the podium in front of him.

He was right. He did seem zen, and you wondered how the hell he could deal with the the constant pressing and scrutinizing. ‘Maybe that’s the tradeoff,’ you thought to yourself.

Tony had fame and a massive fortune but could never seem to leave the spotlight, either through his work as Tony Stark, genius inventor and CEO, or his work as the Invincible Iron Man, one of Earth’s mightiest heroes. It was a good thing he seemed to embrace this fame and fortune. You, on the other hand, despite being a musician, had a love/hate relationship with the spotlight. It was necessary for your job sometimes, but the thought of being bombarded with a million questions while cameras were flashing just seemed like just one S short of stressful.

And yet how was it that the two of you seemed to get along so well? Your previous impression was that you couldn’t possibly see yourself befriending someone who was so self-centered, so arrogant, so privileged. But Tony Stark was nothing like you imagined at all. You glanced up from your phone just as a reporter asked about the Expo.

“So despite this recent attack and the death threats that have been sent to your office, the Stark Expo is still taking place as scheduled?”

Death threats?

“No, we have no plans to cancel the Expo just because of some petty vandalism, but I just want to say one thing,” he began, pausing to gain the attention of the room. “Yes, this is the Stark Expo, but it also belongs to the hundreds of other brilliant scientists, engineers, and artists that are scheduled to present their ideas to the world. It’s their stage just as much as it’s mine.”

But one bespectacled reporter didn’t bat an eye as he asked a follow up question. “So you’re willing to put all these lives at risk, including the lives of the attendees?”

“If I didn’t believe in them and their work, I wouldn’t think it was worth taking this risk.”

* * *

 

Something had changed when he returned from the press conference. You were quiet during the tour of the Stark Tower, and if he didn’t know you any better, he would have thought something was wrong. Instead, you politely greeted each of the available Expo guests with a smile, marveling at their introductions and demonstrations with wide eyes and genuine interest. No, you were oddly quiet towards him and Tony couldn’t figure out why.

You looked slightly relieved when Happy remained outside while Tony took you to his lab on the top floor. And when the elevator doors finally opened up, so did you.

“That was a really great thing you said back there.”

“The joke about glow in the dark slugs? Because it wasn't my best quip but I'm glad to take the compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, the sparkling light finally returning. “No, Tony, back at the press conference. You standing by everyone.”

His footsteps slowed as he came up to one of the work benches. “Well of course. There was no other option, was there?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you approach, hopping up on to the bench as he leaned against the edge. Both of your gazes were at the ground, staring at the cold concrete in silence.

“For once, it’s not about me and people will still try to make it about me,” he chuckled bitterly. “I’m the bad guy. I’m the one putting people’s lives at risk. I’m a fascist, a capitalist, a mentally-unstable alcoholic!”

Tony hated the way you flinched when he began to raise his voice. He wished he could take it back if he could, but he forgot how good it felt to be honest with himself, to peel back the layers and layers of steel that he had erected around his heart. To not be Iron Man, or even Tony Stark. Just Tony. Someone who made mistakes, just like everyone else did. Sure, his mistakes sometimes had a body count, but god if he didn’t work his ass off every single day to try to rectify those mistakes, to make things right.

“But it’s not about you, isn’t it? It’s about the presenters.”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, his soft blue eyes meeting yours. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“I mean, c’mon, Tony. I just met with a bunch of those people. You could have killed their dreams today, but you didn’t. You stood by them and told the whole world that you thought their ideas were worth it.”

“Because they are,” he nodded firmly. “I mean you saw…”

“I did. That’s what we spent the past few hours doing,” you smiled. “People aren’t going to like it, but trust me, you’re doing the right thing.”

“Y’know…” he trailed off. “Has anyone ever told you that you give amazing pep talks?”

“That was barely a pep talk,” you shook your head with a smile.

“Well yeah, it was barely a pep talk because you’re so good at it. Seriously, have you ever considered doing seminars?”

“If I did, they wouldn’t last very long,” you volleyed back.

Tony made a thoughtful humming noise. “True. Wait, hold that thought.”

“I’m not going to, but sure.”

He gave you a grin as he pushed himself off the bench and reached into his pocket for his phone. It was Edith.

“And how is the most beautiful woman in New York doing this afternoon?”

Edith promptly ignored him and got straight to the point. He had been answering her calls the same way for the better part of the year so she didn’t bother correcting him anymore.

“Is your little friend still in town?” she asked. “I thought I could take her to see the Philharmonic tonight and you’re even welcome to join us if you’re not busy.”

“I’m sure she..we would love that very much,” he smiled, turning his back towards you before whispering, “And if you could tell her that it was my idea, that would be great.”

“Anthony, please. It’s my membership.”

“I’m a member too, y’know.”

“I couldn’t tell. I never see you there.”

“Touche.”

When he hung up the phone and told you about the plans, you practically leaped into the air with excitement. There was enough time to get dressed, grab a quick dinner, and then the two of you were due at David Geffen Hall at eight to see their sold-out rendition of Mozart’s symphony No. 40 and 41. Tony even tried to tell you it was a surprise, but you didn’t buy it for a second. Naturally.

The whole thing was oddly nostalgic. Harrison used to accompany his mother to see the Philharmonic, New York Ballet, or the Metropolitan Opera almost every week. And every once in a while, Tony’s parents would drag him along too, but the older he got, the more excuses he found to get himself out of it. Classical music always seemed too stuffy and outdated for him. He had better things to do than to sit still for an hour and listen to music. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he actually went to one of these things, but here he was, folding his collar over his tie before growling in annoyance and tugging the thing looser around his neck.

The sound of your heels against the wooden floor brought Tony’s attention to the hallway as you stepped out of the guest room wearing a simple black number that Edith had sent over via bike messenger. It was more on the elegant side and left much to the imagination, but it was flattering all the same. Tony had a lot of feelings about that high-neck collar and how good your legs looked but it was better to kept those thoughts to himself. He wasn’t sure if you looked uncomfortable because of the dress itself or because this was the second couture outfit you had been gifted in the past forty eight hours.

“How’d you manage to button yourself up?” he asked curiously, fixing his cuff links with practiced snaps. “I was looking forward to doing it for you.”

“Lots of practice,” you nodded with pursed lips. “I can usually get it...seventy percent of the time.”

“You’ll call me for the other thirty percent right?” he winked.

You made a snorting sound through your nose as you slipped your phone into the chained crossbody bag on your shoulder. “You’re hilarious.”

“Thank you.”

The ride to the Lincoln Center was bittersweet as Tony realized this fun little weekend was coming to an end. You were flying back to L.A. tomorrow and he was staying in New York for the next few weeks to work on the Expo. Realistically, it would be another month before he saw you again. At least there was always work to distract him. Tony Stark had a very intimate relationship with the expression, “work hard, play hard.”

When you arrived, Edith greeted you both with double cheek kisses from her seat. You were practically vibrating with excitement as your eyes darted around the theater. “I’ve heard the acoustics in here are insane,” you gushed.

“You’ve never seen the New York Philharmonic before?” asked Edith curiously.

“No, not live. But I have friends who love coming here whenever they’re in town.”

“Well, you’re in for a real treat then, dear,” she smiled graciously as she gestured towards the stage.

As if on cue, the lights began to dim as the group makes their way on to the stage in a shuffle of black and white. You hear the faint hum and pluck of strings peppering their movements. The concertmaster takes the stage and begins the initial tuning before taking her seat in the front row of the group. Tony can practically feel the way you tense up when the conductor finally makes his entrance and steps on to his podium.

But whether it was anticipation or anxiety, he noticed the way your shoulders immediately relaxed when they began to play. The beautifully complex notes of Mozart filled the theater as a tender smile danced across your lips. He supposed this made up for dragging you here, leaving Edith’s dinner early, and making you sit through a boring press conference. He wasn’t sure about you, but he would absolutely consider this weekend a success. Even though he knew the bantering and the jokes came naturally, it was great to see how much more relaxed you were around him, about the job, everything.

He took advantage of the brief pause at the end of the first movement to lean over and whisper. “Thanks for coming out this weekend.”

She snorts, giving him a teasing smile. “Did I have a choice?”

“Maybe the illusion of one? Again, you laughed and said, ‘yeah,’” he grinned that stupid shit-eating grin. The one that tended to get him punched.

“You're lucky I had a good time,” you rolled your eyes. “This entire trip has been very….educational.”

“Honey, I practically invented showing people a good time,” he smirked. “And educational in a good or bad way?”

You gave him a firm stare, refusing to back down from his playful gaze. But before you could respond, the music resumed and your thoughts were drowned out by the rising crescendo. Tony looked at you expectantly but you merely shrugged and held a finger to your color-stained lips and then pointed at the stage. Tony supposed it didn’t matter in the long run if he already knew the answer. Feelings and emotions that were previously bottled up were now out in the open and there was no going back.

* * *

 

You let out a satisfied huff as you hoisted your backpack and over your shoulders and took the black garment bags from Tony with a gracious smile. After the concert, you spent the entire trip back to his apartment engaged in another verbal spar with him on whether or not you should keep the dresses from this weekend. But Tony had insisted and you agreed just so he could shut up, knowing they would probably sit in the back of your closet for the rest of your life.

There was a bit of a gust going as you walked across the tarmac towards Tony’s private jet, ready to make the journey back home to L.A. You were about halfway from Tony’s car to the jet when you heard him shout your name over the sound of the running engine. He jogged up to you with a smile, motioning for Happy to take your bags to the hold. You handed your stuff off to his bodyguard before turning to Tony with a curious look.

“Do you remember what I said back at the press conference? About believing in the work they were doing?” he asked, practically shouting over the noise.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“That applies to you too. You’re bringing something unique to the table, ____.”

A smile graced your lips as you nodded in affirmation. “I know.”

“Good,” he nodded before leaning in for a brief hug. “See you around, Waters.”

“See you around.” 

Stacy the flight attendant from last time was there to greet you at the top of the steps with a smile. “It’s great to see you again, Miss. ____!”

“Likewise,” you nodded, before moving to take your seat.

You sank into the plush leather seat with a content sigh, reaching into your pocket for your phone so you could text Craig that you were about to take off. Your nephew had promised to be there waiting for you when you landed with a fresh bag of your favorites from In N Out. You glanced out the window, taking in the view of Manhattan across the Hudson River. As the plane began to pull away, you noticed Tony casually waving at you with one hand while his other was still nonchalantly shoved into his pocket. You waved back until he was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone who has left a kudos, comment, or bookmarked this fic. Your support means the world to me. I'm super excited to write the next chapter!!! I tried out a new format for outlining the plot and it's been super helpful so far. Stay tuned for more shenanigans!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much Tony in this chapter, but the next chapter is almost entirely in his perspective. I debated whether or not I should even post this before I finished the next chapter because there's a slight cliffhanger, so I apologize in advance. :') Don't worry it's not life or death or anything.

“Let’s take it from the top again. I think we pretty much have it down. I just want to hear the solo one more time, just to be sure,” said Warren, from his spot at the front of the room. 

We had this down a week ago, we’re not amateurs, you thought to yourself, trying to distract yourself from how hungry you were. Maybe you should have waited that extra ten minutes for Craig’s offer of bagels instead of letting him get to class on time. No, you were supposed to be a good aunt. 

You exchanged looks with your friend and the drummer of the ensemble, Siwoo, who anticipated and met your gaze in a matter of seconds. The two of you had been giving each other exasperated looks throughout the entire rehearsal and one of these days, Warren was going to catch on to the fact that you now despised his leadership style. And you weren’t alone. You theorized that the only way Siwoo got through these past few weeks was the fact that he got to hit drums with sticks for a living, and he was very good at it. You couldn’t speak for the rest of the group, but judging by their stone-faced stares, they all felt the same. 

Jazz was one of your favorite genres and styles, one that you felt you never spent enough time fully exploring, and now Warren was ruining it for you with his usual nitpicking and micromanaging. You wondered how you ever got through working on an entire film with him, let alone these past few weeks.

One of the best musical minds in the business, Quinton Carmichael, was celebrating fifty amazing years of his career with a tribute concert organized by his wife and two grown children. As soon as you got back from New York, you barely had time to set down your luggage before you were launched into two to three hour rehearsals with Siwoo, Warren, and a number of other musicians and composers that Quinton had supported and taken under his wing throughout his long career. Between piano lessons, rehearsals for the concert, and working on the Stark Expo, you were finally relieved to have some semblance of a routine in your life, no matter how busy that routine was. 

The sound of the bass was thrumming through your body as your fingers moved across the keys, gentle, smooth, and seductive like Quinton’s song. You tried to keep your eyes glued to the music in front of you, but the notes were starting to blur together. You knew Warren was staring at you, his gaze cutting through your concentration like a katana through tall grass. 

A perfectly executed tenor saxophone solo brought you back to reality and suddenly the notes became clear again. You could feel your teeth clenching in frustration all the way until the song finally ended, along with today’s rehearsal. 

“Great work, guys. I’ll see you all on Thursday for the dress rehearsals at Disney,” he nodded, clapping his hands slowly. 

However, instead of immediately going to you like you thought he would, Warren moved to talk to the saxophone section, probably to give a few unnecessary notes on the solo. Maybe you could get out of here before he got the chance to speak to you. You quickly but carefully shuffled your sheet music back into your folder before stuffing it into your bag, nearly jumping out of your skin when Warren appeared next to the piano. 

“Working hard as usual, ____?” he asked, leaning against the frame. “I hope Mr. Tony Stark isn’t giving you too much trouble. He seems like he’d be a nightmare of a boss.” 

“He’s not really my boss, Warren. He just asked me to score the Stark Expo,” you clarified, slinging your bag over your shoulder, hoping he would take it as a sign that you were clearly trying to exit both the building and this conversation. 

“So, what exactly is the relationship there? Melanie says she saw pictures of you guys hanging out in New York. The two of you looked awfully close. Are you two...” 

You snorted through your nose. Beth practically burned a hole into your phone with links to various candid photos of you and Tony in the tabloids upon your return. You went from being a ‘mystery woman’ to ‘possible lover’ to ‘strictly professional and platonic relationship,’ as confirmed by Tony in a statement. Thankfully things have quieted down since then, especially since the public’s attention was quickly diverted by the Avengers saving the day from an alien spaceship that was on a flaming collision course with Earth. 

“That was, like, a month ago, Warren. He made a statement, remember? It’s all professional, but hey, if you’re interested, I’m pretty sure he’s single at the moment,” you joked venomously. 

But Warren only laughed obliviously and obnoxiously as you both made your way out into the hallway. You looked around for Siwoo but he was probably already outside waiting by the car. Typical. 

“As much as I love Iron Man, I am happily engaged to my fiancee,” he sighed. “But nice try.” 

You fought hard to not roll your eyes. Instead, your eyes widened in neither disbelief or surprise as you pressed your lips together. Siwoo was checking his hair in the window of your car when you finally stepped outside into the bright Los Angeles sun. You unlocked the car from where you were and he quickly let himself into the passenger seat. 

“So how much of it have you finished?” asked Warren. 

Siwoo glanced up from his phone as you approached with Warren. The two men gave each other a silent nod as a greeting before Siwoo’s eyes went back to the screen, but judging from the way his screen stayed in the same place, you knew your friend was secretly eavesdropping.

“Enough,” you offered. “Maybe three or four tracks?” 

“When do you think you’re going to get into the studio?” he asked, the inevitable question that you hoped to avoid ever since you accepted this position. 

“Uhh,” you trailed off. “I mean, I’m not sure. Tony’s been really busy so I haven’t had time to get his sign off yet.” 

“Uh-huh,” Warren nodded, looking absolutely unconvinced. “Well, if you need someone to conduct, you have my number.” 

“Yup.” Unfortunately. 

“Alright, I’ll see you on Thursday,” said Warren, saying goodbye much to your delight. “Bye, Siwoo.” 

Siwoo gave him another silent nod before the two of you climbed into your car before making his disapproval very clear. “I still can’t believe you’re even talking to him.” 

“It’s unavoidable, ok? We’re doing this concert for Quinton. I can’t  _ not _ talk to him if we’re in the same group,” you reasoned, flicking at your turn signal to pull out of the parking lot of the rehearsal studio. 

“I told you, you should have went for the  _ Love Across the Universes _ group,” he sighed. “Those guys were so devastated when you picked us.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “But I haven’t played in a band with you since college. I missed it.” 

Siwoo gave you his usual charming smile. “Me too. I missed my beautiful piano wife, but now you’re making me wish I had picked  _ Love Across the Universes _ , and I haven't played in an orchestra since college.” 

“Warren acts like he hasn't led a jazz band since college so you're both in the same boat,” you snorted bitterly. 

“Honestly I thought he was about to cum in his pants when you said you haven't recorded anything yet,” said Siwoo, not holding anything back as usual. “‘As much as I love Iron Man,’ God what a tool. Please tell me you're going to find someone else.” 

“That's the plan,” you tilted your head like a nod. 

You had been working with Warren ever since your first movie and for some reason that was unknown to you now, the two of you just clicked. You used to think you could lose hours just watching him on that podium, the delicate way he held the baton and the even softer way he spoke to the recording musicians. He had a way of understanding your scores like no one else did and had even advocated for you a few times when the producers disagreed, when you thought no one was in your corner. It was hard enough being a woman in Hollywood but you were also a woman in music too. And now you resented the fact that you had pined after him like a schoolgirl when he clearly didn't feel the same. 

“You know, he asked me to play a song at his wedding,” you said, much to Siwoo's outrage. 

The bottle of Sriracha nearly flew out of his hands as you nodded in response to his stream of repeated “Seriouslys?” 

You wiped down your pair of chopsticks and grabbed a white plastic soup spoon from the utensil caddy at your table. Getting pho after rehearsals was a time honored tradition for you and Siwoo, so was getting drinks after a performance, which you were definitely looking forward to after the concert. Tony's nickname for you was Waters but after Friday night, it was going to be A Dozen Margaritas. 

“He wants you, his former side chick…”

Siwoo's words earned him a terse glare which he shrugged off. He wasn't wrong but that didn't mean you weren’t proud of it. 

“...To play a song at his wedding to Melanie, the most boring person in this universe? Please tell me you said no.” 

“Of course I did! It's way too close to the week of the Expo, anyway. I'll probably be in New York by then,” you reasoned, grabbing a small handful of bean sprouts for your soup. 

“You know what would really be wild?” smirked Siwoo. “If you not only went, but took Tony Stark as your plus one.” 

“That is a god awful idea. Why would you even suggest that?” 

Siwoo’s eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets as he explained. “Think about it. You showing up to his wedding, in some fancy designer dress with  _ the  _ Tony Stark on your arm. And then knowing you both, you guys kill it on the dance floor and then leave before anyone can talk to you because their entire wedding is beneath you.” 

“This isn’t a rom-com ok? Regular human beings don’t act like that,” you remarked before slurping hungrily at a bunch of noodles. 

“Ok, but you and Tony aren’t regular human beings.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m totally a regular human being.” 

But Siwoo didn’t look impressed. “Regular human beings don’t win Oscars.” 

Even after a month, it was still pretty hard to come down from the high of your victory. If the people in your life didn’t remind you of it and congratulate you, you probably would have been stuck in a permanent state of denial. Even seeing the bronze statuette displayed in your house still seemed like something of a fever dream. 

“Ok, but that doesn’t mean I’m anywhere near his league. I’m pretty sure we’re playing different sports too.” 

“Uhh yeah, you’re way out of his league, not the other way around. Trust me.” 

Only Siwoo could say something like that and absolutely mean it. It didn’t make it true in your eyes, but it was still nice to hear. 

* * *

 

Selling his own products and inventions were almost second nature for Tony Stark. People often forgot that one of his five PhDs was in business and lately, he was having several opportunities to utilize it. Usually Stark Industries sold itself, but the Stark Expo required an extra loving touch and as much of his direct involvement as possible for maximum profit, even though profit was not the end goal. 

This San Jose tech giant was absolutely eating out of the palm of his hand. Pepper was right, as usual. If the Stark Expo was supposed to unite the greatest minds for the advancement of humanity, what better example of that by showing people what the future held? Literally. When in doubt, show pictures and videos of smiling children holding power tools and working on laptops in grass fields. 

Well, ok, it was a little more complicated than that. But he really owed Peter Parker big time for the photos that he sent over of Midtown High’s robotics team. If the kid didn’t end up working for Stark Industries, he could have a decent future as a professional photographer. 

“After we announced that we were going to be sponsoring Midtown High Robotics at the Expo with their own demonstration space, Vista Valley High School in California contacted us on Twitter asking if they could receive an invitation, and the whole thing kind of spiraled out of control,” he explained, flicking his hand so FRIDAY could change the slide on his presentation. 

Screenshots taken from their various social media showed the youth of the world reaching out to him and the company, showing off their talents, discoveries, and the various ways they were bettering their communities through science and technology. 

“We even had to create a separate committee to manage it,” he added, changing slides again to blow up a few of the pictures. “The goal is get at least five more high schools to attend the Expo. And I’m not talking about field trips here. These kids will have their own timeslot on the Main Stage, their own booths in the exhibition hall where they can essentially fundraise for their school, and complete access to the archives and all resources available to all Expo presenters.” 

Divination and Stark Industries were absolutely competitors, especially in the biotech department, so it was a pleasant surprise when he was finally contacted by their executive team for a meeting. Despite being a few months away, various companies and thinkers were still trying to get in on the ground floor, despite the attacks and death threats. Maybe everyone realized the futility of it all. Tony wasn’t going to give in and cancel and they would be stupid to miss out on opportunity. Divination was one of the companies that had been on the fence for the better part of a year until they finally took the plunge, and that was all thanks to the work of their CFO, Nina MacLeod. 

Nina was seated towards the middle of the table and had been undressing him with her eyes since the moment she arrived and shook his hand. This one was definitely trouble. How did she know he had a weakness for red lipstick and pencil skirts? 

“Neither of us are startups, Mr. Stark. You guys could easily fund the rest of the schools yourselves. Why call on us for this?” she smirked, eliciting all sorts of dirty thoughts all involving those lips on various parts of his body and vice versa. 

“Well, Miss. MacLeod, if I remember correctly, you called us,” he pointed out, taking a seat on the edge of the conference table. “And yes, Stark could easily fund the remaining four schools ourselves, but what kind of example would we be setting for the kids if we took all of the credit?” 

Thanks to his specially added cue, FRIDAY changed the slide on his presentation to different pictures of Divination and their various youth outreach programs in their headquarter cities of San Jose and San Francisco. 

“I really think we could really build something special together,” he offered, gesturing to their various accomplishments.

“I bet you say that to all the companies,” she smiled, thoroughly entertained. You’d have to be blind to miss the way she uncrossed and crossed her legs.

“Only the ones as groundbreaking as yours, and from my understanding, you already have a few candidates in mind.” 

“Yes, actually. We were thinking of that other school you mentioned, Vista Valley. Their biotech program is practically running at the college level, and their teacher basically built their curriculum from the ground up,” said the man sitting next to MacLeod, eager to cut her off before she and Tony practically jumped each other’s bones and defiled the board room with their blatant show of lust. 

It wouldn’t be the first time, Tony admitted to himself. If these walls could talk…

Their meeting adjourned with promises to keep each other posted on their progress. VVHS was going to be in for a very happy awakening when they got back from spring break. For now, Divination was going to embark on a VIP walking tour of the Stark Industries campus, one of his favorite post-meeting power moves. What could he say? People loved seeing the room-sized arc reactor that powered his factories and hall of Iron Man armors, even his biggest competitors.

He wasn’t alone though. He had Happy, for obvious security reasons, and one of the promising new marketing interns that was all too eager to take the afternoon off in order to give a tour. Normally, Tony didn’t bother tagging along on these tours but Nina had grabbed him by the thing in his pants and wasn’t planning to let go any time soon. 

It was all part of the dance, he told himself. Nina didn’t waste any time and he liked that in a sexual partner. Not more than five minutes after Divination departed Stark’s campus, she had texted him directions to her hotel, along with a few photos of her in various matching sets of lingerie, asking him to pick a look for tonight. How did she know he had a weakness for lingerie too? 

Divination already had plans for dinner and a show that night that she couldn’t get of. Apparently, there was some big charity concert happening at the Walt Disney Concert Hall that her partner had purchased tickets for months in advance, but that wasn’t until tonight and there was no reason why she and Tony couldn’t meet up again afterwards. 

He tried to convince himself that he was better than this, that his willpower was stronger than his desire to get laid, but he would be lying if he didn’t want this. He couldn’t remember the last time he had time for anything more than a quickie in the past few months, and from the way Nina was staring at him, he was willing to bet she was in the same boat. 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, you were two seconds away from punching Warren in the face, and you probably weren’t alone. Siwoo gave you a concerned look, his sticks halting over his practice drum pad in the green room when you were suddenly and urgently called away by Quinton’s wife and one of the stage managers. You looked almost relieved to be given an escape from the musical mansplaining you were receiving from Warren, only to have that dream shattered when he insisted on coming with you. 

Your hands were shoved into the pockets of your black sleeveless jumpsuit to keep them warm as the panicked stage manager broke the news. 

“Carlos is stuck in traffic and he doesn’t think he’s going to make it in time,” he told you, gripping his tablet with white knuckles. 

You felt absolutely awful because he was no doubt going to be receiving an earful from Mrs. Carmichael after the show. Everyone knew Quinton as one of the most laidback personalities in scoring, but his wife was the complete opposite. The stick in her ass probably went a mile deep. 

“What do you mean? Like, he’s not coming?” you asked. 

“Yes, ____. He’s not coming. He’s been stuck on the fucking 110 for the past hour…Pardon my language. It’s been a stressful evening.” 

You shook your head. “It’s fine, what can I do to help? Carlos was….oh god, he was leading  _ Love Across the Universes _ , wasn’t he?” 

“Do you need a conductor? I can do it,” Warren piped up and you nodded. 

Warren wasn’t even really needed for his part of the concert. He took the stage alongside you and the rest of the jazz ensemble and made a short introduction speech, thanking Quinton for his work on  _ Truth Unspoken _ , a popular crime anthology TV series. Then he was supposed to count off for each song but left the stage once the music began. You hated to agree with him, but with his talent, he could easily lead the orchestra for  _ Love Across the Universes _ , which they had planned to be the show’s finale. 

But Mrs. Carmichael shook her head. “No, Warren, I’m here to ask ___ to conduct for  _ Love _ .” 

“Me? Wait, me?” you repeated, not sure you heard her correctly. “I don’t really think I’m the best choice for this. I mean Warren…” 

“You worked with Quinton on it, didn’t you? For all three movies, if I remember correctly.” 

“Well, yeah, but I haven’t conducted since…” you began but she cut you off. 

“Please, ____. Carlos wasn’t even our first choice, but we didn’t want to ask so much of you since we know you’re so busy.” 

You wanted to ask her how well that plan was turning out since you were going to have do it anyway, and at the very last second too. 

“Ok, I’ll do it,” you resigned, getting an uncharacteristic cheer from Mrs. Carmichael. 

“Oh, it’ll be such a pleasant surprise for Quinton. He has no idea. Thank you so much, ___,” she gushed, taking your hands into hers. 

“Did you bring a baton?” Warren asked. 

“No,” you sighed, trying to keep calm. “I didn’t think I was going to be conducting tonight. Can I borrow yours?” 

Your fingers were getting cold from nerves so you took them out of your pockets and tried to breathe on them. It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? 

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, before turning to the stage manager. “You’ll hand it to her before she goes on?” 

The manager nodded as he pressed a hand to his ear, multitasking as he listened to whatever was being said through his earpiece. “Alright...ok. Emma, the people from Divination are here. They’re on their way to meet with Quinton and the girls now.” 

She gave a firm nod before turning to thank you, laughing in disbelief. “I can’t thank you enough for this. The show is saved.” 

“It’s not a problem at all. I’m happy to help,” you smiled, trying to hide how you were still internally screaming on the inside. 

You felt numb as Warren led you back to the green room. Siwoo immediately went to your side when he saw the frazzled look on your face. He helped you on to a couch, where you were joined by the concertmaster. 

“Carlos told us to give you these,” she said, placing a large black leather folio in your hands.

God it was heavy. How many songs were in here? You were probably scaring her with your blank yet cowering expression, so she gave you a sympathetic smile, exchanging looks with Siwoo. Your friend immediately covered your hands with his, the warmth immediately returning. 

“We all have your back, ____, just like we know you’ll have ours. You know these songs just as well as we do. You were there when Quinton was scoring them.”

She was right and opening the folio to see strings of notes that you hadn’t seen in years only solidified this fact. You can do this, you can do this, you repeated to yourself. You let go of Siwoo’s hands and smiled. With support like theirs, how could you back down? People were counting on you. 

“If you make it through this,” he began, pausing when the stage manager became calling for the first group to head out on to the stage for tuning. “If you make it through this, the first round is on me. Hell, the first two rounds are on me.” 

As planned,  _ Love Across the Universes _ was the finale of the show, since it was widely regarded as Quinton’s magnum opus. You also had a whole other performance before that with the jazz ensemble, but that went off without a hitch. Playing the piano was like second nature at this point. It was the whole conducting business you were worried about. In between performances, you were practically wearing a hole through the floor from pacing the green room and backstage area. 

After a while, it seemed like the nerves had gone away but it turned out that they decided to come and go in waves. Siwoo tried to distract you with jokes and casual conversation, but he quickly figured out that wasn’t what you needed right now. Instead, he gave you your space and let you continue your pacing, this time with the scores in one hand and a pencil in the other as you quickly scribbled notes here and there. He recognized that look on your face when you got into that headspace. 

As the end of the concert drew closer and closer, you figured it was better to beat them to the punch and began walking towards the stage, instead of waiting for one of the stagehands to find you for your cue. You could feel the steady C reference note in your bones as you waited in the wings, watching as Lillian, the concertmaster from earlier, drew her bow back and forth on her violin to tune the orchestra. 

When she finally lifted her bow from the delicate instrument, she gave you a reassuring nod and she returned to her seat. The stage manager rushed up to you and placed a thin wooden baton in your hands, Warren’s baton, with its well-loved cork handle and glossed cherrywood body. It was longer than the one you had at home, the one you hadn’t touched in years, but it would have to do for now. The pre-recorded voice over reverberated through the hall as it announced your entrance. 

“Leading an orchestra comprised of some of Quinton Carmichael’s most ardent fans and talented proteges, please welcome Oscar-winning composer, ____ ____.” 

You let the tip of the baton poke your palm with just enough pressure for you to feel something but not hard enough to snap it in half. Yup, this was real. Oh god this was real. 

The sound of roaring applause was deafening and only crescendoed when you took the stage, making your way to the podium. The lights were blinding and made the audience appear as a vast sea of darkness but were very aware of their presence. For good measure, you gave a little wave anyway, smiling when you received a sharp whistle in return. 

You tried to regulate your breathing as you stepped on to the podium, in through your nose and out through your mouth. There were so many familiar faces staring back at you, smiling fondly and ready to knock this out of the park. A cough from the audience snapped you out of your daze and your back stiffed to attention. You stared down at your music stand, flipping to the proper page in the scores. With one last breath, you finally lifted your hands and cued in the first piece. 

* * *

 

Vagabonds was a French-inspired cocktail lounge in West Hollywood that was a regular spot for you and Siwoo after concerts, whether you were in the audience or on stage. Despite the massive success of the concert, there wasn’t much of a turnout for Siwoo’s extended invite to the rest of the performers. Thankfully, Warren was included in that crowd, immediately whisked home afterwards by his fiancee. In fact, that was what you and Siwoo were laughing about currently, turned towards each other one corner of the bar. 

“I bet that’s what they’re talking about right now in the car,” he snickered. “Sorry, I bet that’s what he’s talking about and she’s passively listening to: him complaining about how you stole the show from him.” 

“Siwoo, stop,” you punched him on the arm. “I didn’t steal the show from him. Quinton’s wife asked me to do it. What was I supposed to say? You should have seen her, she had crazy eyes, like she was this close to strangling the poor stage manager. I felt so bad.” 

“Well if he really has a problem with it, he can score his own movies. Oh wait, he can’t.”

You shook your head in disbelief in between laughs. Siwoo already had a strong personality, but it tended to get even stronger after he had a few drinks in him. He tended to just say whatever was on his mind without holding back, but then again, you were pretty sure he was still stone cold sober. He had only had a couple sips of his house-made absinthe cocktail since you had arrived. 

You, on the other hand, were the designated driver. As usual. But that was perfectly fine with you since you wanted to remember every moment of this night. 

“Jeez, you’re not holding back tonight,” you chuckled, reaching for another slice of the chickpea flatbread you had both ordered to share. 

“Nope. I’ve had to put up with that asshole for the past few weeks and now we’re finally free, ___. God it tastes so good,” he nodded after taking a long sip of his drink. 

You weren’t sure if he was talking about both his newfound freedom or the drink, but either way both were oh so sweet. 

“I still can’t believe he’s marrying her. Where did you say they met?” he asked. 

“He told me it was through a friend, but I’m pretty sure that friend’s name is Tinder. He was texting her the whole time we were ‘together,’” you rolled your eyes as your fingers curled into air quotes. 

“He’s been dead to me for a year now, ____. Nothing you say will make me hate him any more than I already do,” he said, pointing at you with a french fry. 

“Do you ever think it’s crazy that there are people our age that have kids… that are  _ married _ with kids,” he asked, sighing thoughtfully. 

His parents were probably trying to matchmake him with the other singles at their church again. You gave him a sympathetic look. The two of you lost count of how many people at the concert who told him they couldn’t stay out for drinks since they had families waiting for them at home. Maybe it was finally getting to him. His older brother had just had his first kid not too long ago. 

“I never really thought about it until now, but yeah…” you trailed off. “But honestly, do you think either of us are ready to get married?” 

“Me, no way. But you....” 

“Siwoo, no.” 

“What? It’s true! After tonight, there are going to be people lining up to lock you down. Trust me.”

“Oh my god…”

The two of you shared another laugh before he held up his drink for a toast. “To freedom.” 

“Yeah, to freedom and to music,” you added. “Cheers, my friend.” 

Your glasses clinked against each other before you tipped them back. And that was when your night started to go south. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') I cranked this chapter out so fast because this is one of my favorite parts of the story. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter out soon. Thanks for all of your support!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is happening! This chapter was both fun and painful to write for various reasons. As always, thank you so much for your kudos and comments. I can't believe I've actually written ten chapters for this fic. I've been writing fanfics for years and this is the furthest I've ever gotten. It's all thanks to you guys and your continued support.

“Oh my god! He was not! Stop!” you cried with laughter, lightly punching your friend on the shoulder.

“You weren’t backstage with us, ____. Warren was practically pouting the entire time you were up there,” Siwoo reported. “Like a full on arms crossed, lip out and everything.”

“Well, good. Because I really enjoyed that,” you smiled triumphantly and sat up a little straighter in your stool before combusting into a giddy grin. “God it was such a rush, Siwoo! I can't believe I forgot how good it felt.”

“Just one man’s opinion, but it would be a damn shame if that was the last time we ever saw you on a podium, ____.”

Maybe you were being petty but you also really needed to hear that. As much as you loved playing the piano, you really missed the thrill of conducting. Whether it was during scoring sessions or for a live performance like this one, you loved standing on that podium and guiding the music along with your baton, feeling every note running through every vein of your body all at once. It was a rush that was impossible to explain and now, you were already craving more.

There was nothing wrong with choosing to be in the booth during scoring. The decision was ultimately up to the composer, whether to conduct their own scores or to hire a conductor, one who hopefully understood your vision, but now after getting a taste of it, you wondered if you were ever going to be able to relinquish that control back to someone else ever again, especially when it came to your own music. You really wanted to knock it out of the park for the Stark Expo job, for Tony. You knew how much this project meant to him and you weren't going to let him down.

For every voice inside you that was telling you to just say “fuck it” and do your own thing, there was another more timid voice that was asking you to reconsider, that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, sure, you were never going to work with Warren again, but there was no reason you couldn’t just find someone else. There had to be someone out there who understood you.

* * *

 

Tony had arrived at Vagabonds not too long after you and Siwoo, sneaking in through the back entrance to avoid causing a scene. As much as he would have liked to stay and mingle, this was meant to be a rendezvous point for him and Nina before heading back to her hotel for the night since it was only a few blocks away. She had been teasing him with texts ever since they parted ways earlier this afternoon, and he was a little more than riled up.

The last of Divination had just left to turn in for the night, buying her flimsy excuse that she was meeting up with a friend. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wouldn’t be the first one of the night.

He peered around the room for Nina’s familiar silhouette but recognized the sound of your laugh echoing from one corner from the bar first. Tony let out a harsh curse under his breath, shaking his head in utter disbelief. Of all the nights to run into you again, after parting ways in New York a few weeks ago.

You were seated with your partially exposed back towards him, showing off your pretty shoulders and straight posture. He couldn’t tell what you were drinking, but you definitely looked happy to be sharing that cone of fries with the man next to you. The two of you were laughing and joking like old friends, sharing fond smiles and exasperated looks, the way only true friends did. And he always knew what old friendships sometimes led to.

Tony glanced down at his watch. First for the time, then for any new messages from Nina. Oh fuck it, he thought to himself before sidling up behind you and tapping you on the opposite shoulder. Your shoulders stiffened before you spun around in the wrong direction before swiveling back to see him standing in between you and and your friend, your jaw dropping in shock.

“Tony! Jesus! What the hell are you doing here?” you exclaimed.

“I could ask you the same thing. That does _not_ look like water to me, ____,” he joked, pointing at your glass, which housed a sparkling fuchsia cocktail with limes and mint leaves floating in it.

“It’s just a soda. C’mon you know me. Besides, I gotta drive this punk home,” you smiled, pointing at your male companion, who gave him a casual wave. “This is Siwoo. We…”

You paused, staring at your friend for a hot second. “Well, I’m not quite sure what to label you.”

“How about friends?” Siwoo rolled his eyes. “Me and ____ go way back. Since college, I think.”

“Yup. We had Ensemble together,” you recalled, laughing at the way Siwoo grimaced.

“Ugh, and Music Theory. That class was the worst,” he rolled his warm brown eyes.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, not for you. The professor loved you,” he glared before turning to Tony. “This girl never talked in class, never took notes, but aced every quiz and test. She even finished the final an hour early.”

“That sounds like me in college,” said Tony. “Except you couldn’t get me to shut up in class.”

“Good to see you haven’t changed,” you jabbed.

Tony put a hand on his chest, mocking hurt. “You wound me. Besides, it’s part of my charm.”

“Sure, Tony,” you sighed exasperatedly, your smile spelling out that you weren’t really as annoyed with him as you seemed.

He also noticed you didn’t bother introducing him to your friend, but he supposed that was to be expected. Siwoo clearly knew who he was. Who didn’t? Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how you would have labeled your relationship with him. Friend or client? A buzz on his wrist interrupted any further musings.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt your date. I just wanted to say hi,” teased Tony, shoving his hands into his pockets casually.

Siwoo snorted, gagging on his drink as your jaw dropped. “Don’t worry, Tony. This one is still perfectly single. We are _not_ on a date, trust me.”

“Was that a proposition?” he smirked, glancing down at you, noting the way your cheeks flushed, either in annoyance or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. “Did you just proposition ____ for me?”

“Maybe in the next life, sure,” you said sarcastically.

“But seriously, what’s the special occasion? You guys are all dressed up. Am I missing something here?”

Tony was dressed up too, but that was beside the point. It was entirely possible that you were going to parties that he didn’t know about. It was highly unlikely but still possible.

“We just got out of a concert, the Quinton Carmichael tribute?” you replied.

Well now he was officially out of the loop. Quinton Carmichael was responsible for basically his entire childhood and adolescence. He grew up watching those movies practically on a loop. How could he have not known the man was having a tribute concert? Worst of all, why wasn’t he on the invite list?

“Ok, that just makes it sound like we were there in the audience,” Siwoo shook his head. “No, we just finished _playing_ the concert.”

“Seriously? ____, you were playing in a Quinton Carmichael concert and you didn’t invite me?” he gasped, mocking hurt again.

When was he ever going to learn that you were never going to fall for that?

“Don’t take it personally, Tony. She never invites anyone,” Siwoo reassured.

“I stopped inviting people to my concerts after middle school,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s when me playing the piano stopped being cute.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Tony smiled.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “Shut up. You haven’t see me with braces, ok?”

Tony wanted to let out a little hollar of victory because there was no mistaking the way your face flushed at the compliment. He finally managed to get you to blush, meaning you weren’t totally immune to his charms like you tried to make yourself seem. And now Nina was telling him she was on her way inside. This was shaping up to be a wonderful night.

* * *

 

Just when you had hoped that whoever was meeting Tony would cancel or not show up at all, a tall brunette sauntered up the bar, her designer heels clacking against the floor. You thought it was just a bold stranger trying to make a move on Tony, but a glint of recognition flittered against his features right before she leaned in and gracefully landed a soft and slow kiss on his lips, her hand reaching for his arm.

Your eyes widened in shock and once again, Siwoo was having trouble holding down his drink. With her heels, the woman was about the same height as Tony, dressed in a two-piece red dress that showed off her perfect, spin class-sharpened legs.

“Hey, handsome,” she greeted in a voice that sounded like dark chocolate covered cherries.

“Hey yourself, gorgeous,” he replied, giving her a quick once-over. “Wow, can I just say that red is definitely your color.”

“I could say the same for you,” she grinned sinfully, smoothing her hands over his burgundy dress shirt.

You suddenly became very interested in the cone of fries that you and Siwoo had ordered to share, but found nothing at the bottom of the newspaper liner. You retracted your hand in defeat and took a sip of your drink instead, only to get slightly melted ice cubes. Meanwhile, Tony and his lady friend conversed in hushed tones beside the bar.

“Can I get another?” you called for the bartender.

“Same here,” Siwoo echoed, pointing to his absinthe cocktail. “Make it a double.”

“And I’ll have a martini. Extra dry,” the woman added before giving you a knowing smile that made you want to blink out of existence. “I recognize that jump suit.”

“Me?” you blinked.

“Yes, you. You’re that woman from the concert. The one who came on at the end,” she smiled. “For _Love Across the Universes_.”

“Yup, that’s her,” said Siwoo, beaming with pride. “____ ____, the most hard working composer in the business.”

You shook your head, mouthing “no” at Siwoo, which he promptly ignored to introduce himself. Sure, you worked hard, but you didn’t think it was much more than anyone else.

“____ is actually scoring some stuff for the Expo,” Tony added. “And we’re very lucky to have her.”

“I see. Nina MacLeod,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand for a firm handshake for both you and Siwoo. “Tony and I are...business peers.”

Tony gave her an amused smile. “Well that’s one way of putting it.”

“Business peers? Is that like a PC way of saying ‘the competition,’” Siwoo inquired, leaning on his elbow.

When you gave him an incredulous look, he merely shrugged. “What? I have a _Popular Science_ subscription. Divination?”

She nodded, her eyes brightening in pleasant surprise that someone recognized her even though she wasn’t quite as famous as Tony. Sensing your confusion from your silence, Siwoo filled you in. “She’s the CFO of Divination. They’re mostly in biotech...right?”

You nearly choked on your drink. This woman was one heart attack or promotion away from running an entire company. Her very presence screamed powerful and polished, just like Pepper. So these were the type of women that Tony usually acquainted himself with. Well, besides the superheroines.

“Oh, but my job is so boring. I want to hear about you two,” she laughed, gesturing to you and Siwoo. “I can’t imagine what the lives of professional musicians are like. It must be so...liberating.”

She let out a breathy sigh with her last word. You and Siwoo exchanged glances, unsure of who between the two of you was more qualified to answer her.

“I suppose it is, but there’s always going to be some routine. And you have to love practice because that’s all you really do, like any art form,” you shrugged. “It’s not really something you just do on a whim. Like, we’ve been doing this for...a little over ten years now.”

“But it’s just...so romantic, dedicating your entire life to music. Was this what you’ve always wanted to do with your life?”

Siwoo had shut up completely, taking on the silent observer role. His eyes were moving back and forth between you two like he was at a tennis match. A very one-sided tennis match, like she was serving aces at you that could only either pelt you in the face or give her the point. It seemed like Nina was addressing you and you alone anyway. You exhaled deeply, but Nina only stared down at you, waiting for you to answer. You felt like you were being interrogated under a single lamp, like there was always a right or wrong answer.

“I wouldn’t call what I do romantic. I just score what I think and what I feel...” you trailed off, considering your next words carefully. “I’m sorry. What was your other question?”

“Was this what you’ve always wanted to do with your life?” repeated Nina.

“Maybe not until the end of high school,” you admitted, laughing at a joke you thought you were telling. “But who ever knows what they want to do when they’re in high school, right?”

Except you had a feeling that sixteen year old Nina MacLeod was exactly the type of person who knew she was going to run a company in the future. And you were willing to bet Tony was the same. So where did that leave you?

“RIght, well, it was very nice meeting you both,” said Nina before turning to Tony. “I’m gonna use the ladies room and freshen up a bit before we go.”

She beamed Tony a lustful glance that lasted one second too long before dragging her hand down his arm and then finally taking her leave. You finally let out the stockpile of air you had been holding in since she first spoke to you, looking to your friend for validation but he was too busy taking another heavy sip of his drink.

“I think my soul just left my body for that entire conversation,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Tony chuckled.

You tried to stay positive for him, since he was clearly on some post-work, pre-sex high. “Yeah, she’s…driven.”

“And thanks to the classic Tony Stark charm, Divination is pledging another five hundred thousand to the youth program so I can probably fly out another five high schools to the Expo. And,” his voice lowered so you and Siwoo had to lean in. “She gives one hell of a rim job.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, immediately jerking away from him towards the bar. “I can’t believe you just used the words ‘youth program’ and ‘rim job’ in the same sentence.”

Tony's laugh was full of mirth and excitement, and you wished it wasn’t so contagious. He placed a hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments. “And hey, I’m sorry she put you on the spot like that.”

“It’s fine,” you shook your head. “It was kind of like being on a job interview.”

He chuckled, finally pulling his arm back to glance at his watch again. “Promise me you’ll call me the next time you do a show? Especially a big one like this?”

“I’ll try,” you smiled.

“Good.”

“Actually, I finished a few tracks for the exhibit hall,” you blurted. “Should I send them over or something?”

Tony’s eyes widened and this time, he grabbed both of your shoulders, giving you an excited shake. “Yes, please do! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t get the chance to,” you shrugged. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, but I guess I’ll just be sending them over instead.”

“And now I’ll have something to look forward to. Thanks,” he said, his hands leaving your shoulders again.

* * *

 

When Tony spotted Nina making her way back to the group, she had her phone held up to her ear as she maneuvered through the crowd. He could see a rehearsed smile on her lips as she spoke, making him believe she was talking business until she finally slid up next to him and said in a terse tone, “I swear to god. Nothing is going on. I told you, I ran into a few of the performers and we’re having drinks.”

There was a pause as she listened to the male voice on the other end. And suffice to say, it was one of the main reasons why Tony Stark just didn’t do relationships.

“No, I don’t know when I’m going back to the hotel, but I’m in L.A, Dylan, and I just closed a huge deal. I think I deserve to blow off a little steam,” she said firmly, her smile on her lips fading into a thin line. “What are you talking about? Tony Stark isn’t even here...well, how would I know where he is? It's not like I’m _fucking_ him.”

“Uhh…” You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, gesturing to Tony who was very much here, but Nina shoved a finger in your face, effectively shutting you up.

Siwoo sat up straighter, ready to hop off his stool and fight, but Tony watched as you placed a hand over his balled fist which immediately slowed him down. He didn’t blame you. Siwoo didn’t look like the type of person you wanted to mess with. Maybe it was the helix piercings and the detailed ink that was poking out from under his sleeves.

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me! We’ve been dating for almost a year now. If I really wanted to cheat on you, I would have done it by now. Trust me,” said Nina sharply, nearly grabbing the attention of the group sitting nearby.

Tony knew that solemn look on your face, the one that said you were dying to say something, anything. He didn’t know whether it was going to be a playful jab or a serious burn but you also seemed too stunned to say anything at all. Then, Nina finally put her finger down and gave you a look.

“Yeah, we’re just having drinks, I promise. Here, you can talk to one of the girls. She was at the concert.”

You shook your head, but Nina insisted, covering the microphone with her other hand. “Just make something up,” she whispered before holding the phone out to you.

Siwoo rolled his eyes and turned back to the bar, not wanting any part of this. Tony didn’t blame him, but it was too late. You were already holding up the phone to your ear, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Hello?...Yeah, I was at the concert. There was a...small after-party for VIPs and all the musicians. The family wanted us to meet everyone...No, it’s just me and one other friend. We're just....talking about work, mostly her work.”

You smiled into the phone, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’ll make sure she gets home safe, don't worry. Alright, here she is.”

The glitter encased phone was handed back to Nina, who said her good nights to her boyfriend before hanging up with a sigh of relief. “Ugh thanks, you’re a lifesaver. I’m sorry what was your name again?”

You blinked a few times, as if snapping out of a trance. Tony could see the gears turning but it was like they hadn’t been oiled in ages. And what came out of your mouth was…

“Uhh….her...d. Herd?”

“Herd? Your name is Herd?” Nina raised an eyebrow, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yes?” you asked, mostly to yourself. “Wait, no. It’s not. I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“So you made up a name?”

“I don’t know why I did that. It’s ____. My name is ____.”

Nina shook her head exasperatedly. “Anyway, it was super nice meeting you all and ____, I owe you big time. Seriously.”

Your voice cracked as you gave a tiny “mhm.” And to show her appreciation, she leaned over and gave Tony another long kiss, this time her tongue slipping into his mouth and brushing teasingly against his before she pulled away.

“And I’ll see you,” she paused to straighten the collar of his shirt. “...back at the hotel.”

“Not if I see you back there first,” he teased, in lieu of a goodbye. After all, it wouldn’t really be a goodbye since he would be seeing her soon.

Not long after Nina left through the front, you motioned to the back entrance. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

There was no way, he kept reminding himself. You weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be. Not that he would be opposed to that at all. But no, your tense shoulders and balled fists sent a different message. You grabbed another sip of your drink, for courage, despite its zero alcohol content before you both made your way through the crowd to the back entrance.

As soon as the metal door clicked shut behind him, Tony felt a sharp slap on his arm. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Tony, what the hell. Why would you let her do that?” you demanded. “Now, I’m an accessory...to an affair!”

“We’re all adults here, ____, we didn’t break any laws. You’re not accessory to anything. If she wants to cheat on her boyfriend, she can cheat on her boyfriend. This is not only on me.”

Your glower only grew more powerful in response, but there was no way he wasn’t going to call you on your bluff. He could probably feel your eyes rolling from space as you crossed your arms over your chest, partly because of your anger and partly because there was a bit of a breeze that night. Tony moved to slip his jacket off but you stopped him with a sharp, “I’m fine,” even though he could see a slight shiver in your bare shoulders.

“And in my defense, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend before I slept with her,” he pointed out, and it was the truth, whether you believed him or not. But from the look on your face, it probably didn’t matter. The damage was already done.

“Tony, literally every girl you sleep with already has a boyfriend,” you retorted. “You’re just…”

“What?”

“No, never mind.”

“No, ____. Say it,” he ordered with a little more force than intended. “I’m just what?”

“You’re just...so unbelievable sometimes! How can you be ok with this? How can you be ok with tearing apart a relationship?”  

“I hate to break it to you, angel, but you could tell that shit wasn’t going to last. If not with me, then with someone else. I can guarantee that. Better to have it be with Tony Stark the playboy, then with the guy’s brother or best friend. Trust me.”

“But that doesn’t make it right!” you shouted, catching the attention of two men who were smoking not too far away from where you and Tony were.

They glanced over and gave you both a nod of acknowledgement. “This guy bothering you, ma’am?”

“No, everything’s fine. I was just leaving anyway,” you replied firmly, and the two men quickly went back to their cigarettes.

“Oh no you don’t. FRIDAY?”

“On it, boss.”

Arms still folded, you whipped around and tried to head back into the bar but halted in your tracks when red and gold hexagons began raining from the sky, falling into a seemingly random pattern before reassembling into his armor. Finally, his face plate fell into place, startling you when its eyes glowed a soft blue that signalled it was ready for combat. Just as you tried to take another step, FRIDAY finished the activation sequence and its back stood up straight and at attention.

“FRIDAY? If you can hear me, Tony’s being an ass right now and I don’t want to talk to him,” you called out to her.

“Agreed, Tony _is_ being an ass right now, but neither of us want you to go until you’ve reconciled,” said FRIDAY, her voice coming through from the armor’s external speakers.

“So you’re going to hold me at gunpoint?”

“If anything, FRIDAY is holding _me_ at gunpoint,” he sighed. “She really likes you for some reason.”

To emphasize his point, FRIDAY made his armor nod its head. He may have been her creator, but she was clearly on your side. Maybe calling her in was a mistake.

“Well, it’s late and I just want to agree to disagree at this point,” you resigned. “I’m tired, Tony. Can we talk about this later?”

“Later” is good. “Later” meant you still wanted to talk to him. It meant you really did want to fix this. And if Tony was consistently good at one thing, it was fixing things.

“No, I kind of want to talk about it now. You’re mad at me. I want to make you un-mad at me,” he declared with determination.

“You could do--”

“I’m not going to ‘do the right thing.’ Next suggestion, please,” he cut you off.

Sure, the air quotes weren’t necessary, but this wouldn’t the first time his need to be right made him late for a date. You let out a bitter laugh, staring up at the night sky as if to say, ‘Can you believe this guy?’

“Why are men just….the absolute worst sometimes?” you asked the stars.

“Ok now, it just feels personal,” he lowered his voice. “____, I’m sorry if I offended you, but you said you needed to get to know me to do your job. Well, this is it.”

He gestured up and down his front. “This is a part of who I am. I’m not proud of it sometimes, but it’s still me.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you said dismissively.

“____...” he started. “What was their name?”

“Stop it.”

Bullseye.

“____,” he tried again, this time softer. “Who hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed.

“No, you can’t say ‘don’t worry about it’ and not expect me to worry.”

“It was a year ago. Don’t worry about it,” you repeated that phrase again, like it was some kind of mantra, what you probably told yourself to keep it together. “We weren’t even really _together_ so it’s not like he cheated on me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was what he said, what came out of his mouth, but the words just felt so pointless in the grand scheme of things, especially when he was probably just as guilty of doing the same.

“It’s fine. He’s marrying the other girl, and I dodged a bullet. Trust me,” you chuckled bitterly. “And you’re right. You and Nina, you’re both adults. You can do whatever you want, but I hope you know that someone is going to get hurt.”

“Waters, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known before,” said Tony softly.

You let out a deep breath, like you had been holding it in for months. It was hard to see with only the few street lamps outside the bar, but he didn’t miss the way you stared out into the parking lot, blinking back tears. God, he was such an asshole.

“I know, I just...and you’re right about her boyfriend. He sounded like he didn’t trust her at all. Maybe you did them a favor. I don’t know…”

There was a faint whirring sound as his armor shuffled about awkwardly, glancing back and forth between you and Tony. FRIDAY was probably waiting for him to give the command to return home, but he just couldn’t give it. For once, he was at a loss for words.

“Tony, you don’t...love her right?” you asked.

He let out a bitter chuckle, kicking at the ground as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “No, ____. I never do.”

* * *

 

Tony woke up the next morning sore all over and in an empty bed. Fresh sunlight had managed to filter in through a breach in the blackout curtains, the rays shining directly on to his face. Typical. Only the smell of fresh coffee kept him from simply falling back asleep. Nina had an mid-morning flight back into SJC and was already up and dressed, enjoying the morning paper with room service.

“Is that bacon I smell?” he said groggily.

“Not for long,” she teased, slowly reaching for his plate.

“Don’t you think you’ve tortured me enough, woman?”

Nina smirked from the rim of her mug, her eyes taking inventory of all the various marks she left on his body. She must have counted on cheating on her boyfriend because she was wearing a mustard yellow knitted turtleneck that covered up every hickey and every lie. But if you asked him, the silk scarf was a little overkill.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough of that,” was all she said.

As soon as he threw aside the covers, every muscle in his upper body screamed at him to just stop moving for the love of god. He let out a painful hiss as he slowly climbed out of bed and limped over to where he had dropped his pants last night. Jesus, what the hell did he and Nina do to each other’s bodies last night?

After he parted on terse ways with you, he practically floored it back to this room, eager to forget and lose himself in the arms and between the legs of a beautiful woman. By the time, he and Nina finally collapsed back into bed after a brief soak in the clawfoot tub, it was like he couldn’t even remember what you were even shouting at him about. Tony fell asleep like a baby, sore all over and completely spent. It was the good kind of exhaustion, when he was too tired to think or process anything else so he just slept, dreamless and peaceful.

Then came the morning and everything from last night came flooding back. Reality had the tendency to be a total bitch like that.

“So what exactly does Tony Stark do after he carves another notch on the bedpost?” Nina asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Tony had already downed half of his coffee and barely touched his food, but now he just wanted to shove the entire plate down his throat.

“It’s not like that,” said Tony quietly.

“It’s not? Then what is it like?”

She looked amused, raising an eyebrow and crossing her legs with a swan like grace. If she wasn’t such a corporate shark, she and Natasha probably would have been great friends. There was probably no right answer for her question.

“Last night was fun, but…”

“Oh honey, you don’t have to give me the ‘last night was fun’ talk. I know how this works, believe me. You use me, I use you. This was a mutually beneficial exchange.”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” he frowned.

“You’re right, I don’t. But it’s the truth isn’t it?” she shrugged, before popping a grape into her mouth. “We’re both busy people who loved being loved but don’t want to settle down.”

“You have a boyfriend, Nina. Some would call that settling down.”

“I call it a social experiment. I want to see how much he can take before he finally breaks up with me. I mean, he’s just like everyone else isn’t he? I might not be Tony Stark, but my net worth says I’m pretty damn close, and he likes not having to worry about Bay Area rent.”

So her boyfriend was a gold digger. For some reason, that still didn’t make Tony feel any better about this. No, he knew what was upsetting him, but he would rather die than admit it.

“You know, you really upset my friend,” Tony pointed out.

“You mean, Herd?” Nina ignored the look he threw at her. “I know that’s not her name, but that’s not something you just forget. She really knows how to make an impression. Where did you find her?”

“At the Oscars.”

“Of course you did. I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

“She does.”

He was being childish, but he couldn’t help but feel green with jealousy that Nina got to see you perform before he did. In fact, it seemed like everyone had a chance to see you before he did, and he was the one who hired you.

“Well, give her my regards, the next time you see her,” said Nina, standing up from her chair. “And I’ll see you in June?”

“Yup.”

No hugs or kisses. Just the snap of her suitcase handle clicking into place and the heavy hotel room door closing shut behind her. Tony waited in silence for a moment before he headed for the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

“What’s new, FRIDAY?”

“Oh, not much. Captain America called and left a message. He says you’re needed back at Avengers compound, something about overseeing quinjet repairs,” she reported.

“Tell him I’m on my way, but I’m going to take my sweet time.”

“Alright, but he won’t like that.”

“Duly noted.”

“Also, while you were socializing with Nina MacLeod, ____ ____ sent over a few things. I did a scan and they’re audio files. They appear to be for the Stark Expo. Should I play them?”

He paused, his feet waiting on the cold tile floor as he stood outside the shower. “Is there...did she leave a message or anything?”

“Yes, but it just says to let her know if you have any notes or feedback. It seems like you really pissed her off, boss.”

“Well how was I supposed to know she had a scumbag ex?” he retorted. “I have to fix this, FRIDAY. I actually like hanging out with her. Plus, I really don’t want to find another person to write my walk-out song.”

“In my experience, Tony, a sincere apology works wonders,” said FRIDAY as he stepped under the spray of the shower.

Sure. Of course. A sincere apology was a given, but that wasn't enough. Not for Tony. He needed to make it up to you. Since murdering your ex was probably out of the question, he had to think of something else. And he knew exactly who to call for help, assuming she didn’t castrate him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a tumblr! It looks kind of bare right now, but please feel free to stop by and say hi. I'll probably reblog writing stuff, comics stuff, and other things that inspire me. 
> 
> pink-mecha.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I hit 200 kudos. Thank you so much for reading and enjoying this fic!!! It's currently Christmas Eve for me at the time of publication for this chapter. I hope you all have a lovely and relaxing holidays.

Delicate whisps of her brown hair had escaped her lightly tousled bun as she stood on the porch, watching a man approach on horseback. She pulled her knitted shawl closer around her front to protect from the breeze as she slowly made her way towards him, a look of longing on her demure features. The man hastily dismounted before the horse could come to a complete stop, unable to stand being apart from his true love any longer.

The woman sighed happily as he ran the remainder of the way towards her, sweeping her into his arms as he spun around. “It’s you! Oh I can’t believe it’s you. You’ve returned, you kept your promise.”

The man gave his beloved a fond smile, finally setting her down on the ground with his arms still settled around her waist. He cupped her cheeks delicately, swiping away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks with a brush of his thumbs. He had endured the bloody perils of war, keeping her always close in his heart. There were days when the thought of one day returning to her were the only thing helping him place one foot before the other.

“Of course I did. I swore to you that I would come back to you, that I would become the man you deserve,” he affirmed proudly.

Tony watched from behind the camera as the male actor smiled with a rehearsed tenderness before planting a loving kiss on his costar’s lips. Their lips remained locked until a bell rang, signaling the end of the scene. The director called for a break, but Beth was already making her way towards him in a huff. There was an angry twitch in her eye that struck the fear of God into him as she waved off the interns that offered their help with her heavy costume skirts. In fact, he would have been more scared if she didn’t look so ridiculous trying to bunch up the multiple layers of lace and cotton as she stomped over to him.

If anyone on the crew was aware that Tony Stark was visiting their film set, they didn’t make any fuss about it. He supposed it was just another day on a backlot that saw swarms of celebrities daily. It was actually sort of refreshing, being this invisible.

“So have you come to face retribution for what you’ve done to ____?” she asked, and Tony couldn’t tell if she was still in-character or not.

“Before you kill me, I’m here because I’m trying to make things right with her and I need your help,” he explained. “Also, can I just say that you look positively fetching in that gown, my lady.”

“I’m gay and also a woman of taste so your words mean nothing to me,” Beth dismissed sharply.

“That sounds about right.”

Her grip was like a vice on his wrist as she practically dragged him back to her trailer, the door slamming shut behind them.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I told you not to give her a hard time and you do exactly that,” she shouted.

“I didn’t do this on purpose! Everything was going fine until Nina asked ____ to talk to her boyfriend for her!”

“Ugh, who _does_ that?” said Beth, throwing her hands into the air in disbelief. “The bitch can’t even lie to her boyfriend by herself. What a piece of work.”

Tony was inclined to agreed, but he was also working with her company for the next few months so he figured he should at least be somewhat civil. They didn’t part on bad terms but they didn’t part on great terms either. Needless to say, Stark Industries probably wouldn’t be doing any business with Divination for a while after the Expo.

“I’m not trying to excuse what I did, but I really didn’t know about her ex, Beth. She doesn’t really open up all that much.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Beth rolled her eyes. “____ is really important to me and what happened to her was so shitty and she didn’t deserve it at all.”

And now he felt like such an idiot for finally figuring it out. It explained almost everything, why you were so determined to keep him at a distance despite how easily the two of you had clicked. You had trust issues and you had ‘em bad.

Beth heaved a long sigh as she flopped down on the couch. Tony took a seat at the end of the dining booth across from her. There was a brief stint of silence before Tony let out a bitter chuckle. “This is just like high school all over again, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Tony. This is exactly like high school all over again because once again, it’s up to me to fix your social fuck-ups,” jabbed Beth, not pulling any of her punches as usual.

“Can I at least know what happened with her and her ex?” he asked. “____ kind of told me but I want to know the whole story.”

“From my impression, I really thought they were it for each other. ____ really liked him,” Beth began. “They met not too long after she graduated from college. They worked on this one indie movie together and then they both interned for the same guy. When ____ finally started getting gigs of her own, Warren always conducted for her whenever they were recording. I don’t know anything about music, but ____ always said he was super talented and he just _got her_ and her music.”

Tony already felt sick to his stomach. He already knew how this was going to play out, but he still wanted to hear the rest. Maybe there would be a happy ending, or at least, a hopeful one.

“And when she got the _Glass Blossom_ job, Warren was right there beside her. They spent a lot of time together while she was working on it and eventually, they sort of became a thing but neither of them wanted to tell anyone about it. When the movie finished post-production, ____ found out that he was already seeing someone else behind her back. ‘We never actually made it official or defined our relationship’ or some horseshit like that.’”

“The shittiest part is that Warren’s girlfriend forgave him and now they’re engaged. It’s like he doesn’t even think he did anything wrong, and ____ is too nice to stick up for herself since they sometimes see each other for work.”

“I can’t believe it,” he trailed off.

“And I know you’re really busy so you probably didn’t know, but that Quinton Carmichael thing? He and ____ had to work together on that. For weeks. She was going absolutely crazy, and honestly, I think the only thing that kept her sane was your Stark Expo thing.”

For some reason, his heart warmed at the thought. He remembered how much of a fuss you made going to New York with him for Edith’s dinner, but you ended up having a good time. Your shoulders weren’t so tense, you brought your work with you but it wasn't keeping you up too late at night, and you left feeling recharged and refocused. Tony himself hated being pulled away from work, but sometimes it was necessary to go up for air every once in a while. It was something only a friend would do, notice when you were in too deep and gently nudge you back before you were consumed.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

His phone was practically burning a hole in his pocket with those three samples you had sent over and he still hadn’t listened to, that he had no doubt were absolutely wonderful. His thoughts were interrupted by a few sharp raps on Beth’s trailer door.

“Beth? They need you back on set in a few minutes,” said a voice from outside, followed by hurried footsteps against the gravel.

Beth stood up from her seat and fixed her skirts. “I like to think I know you and ____ really well so I know you wouldn’t hurt her feelings on purpose.”

“No, of course not,” he said, perhaps a little too defensively.

“But now do you see where’s she’s coming from? It’s not like she doesn’t want to trust you, but Tony, you have a reputation. It’s just easier for her to keep a distance because she’s scared,” Beth explained, giving him a sympathetic smile.

Tony held open the door for her so she could carefully descend the steps of her trailer’s entrance. He trailed after her, figuring he could at least see her off before he left. He was in for a long drive back to Malibu and wasn’t ready to be alone with just his thoughts just yet.

“One last thing,” he said to both Beth and the director, who rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Beth blinked one eye open while the other was currently being swiped at with makeup brushes and blending sponges.

“How do I get her to trust me again?”

Tony watched as the makeup artist patted his friend’s cheeks with rouge before stepping back to admire her handiwork. He felt a hand on his shoulder as Beth smiled. “Just show her that you care about her, and maybe, just apologize, Tony. If I know one thing about ____ it’s that she’s pretty forgiving. I mean, she hangs out with us, right?”

* * *

 

Several hours later, Tony found himself headfirst and waist deep under the hood of one of the quinjets. The poor thing had taken quite a beating during their last mission and Thor had barely managed to carry it back to the compound in one piece. Sure, Tony could have easily passed the job on to one of the many in-house engineers, but sometimes, he just needed something simple to tinker with in order to get his mind off things. Only Tony would find fixing a jet engine simple enough to be relaxing.

He wondered what you did to relax and he felt silly for thinking it was anything but playing your piano. In fact, that was probably what you would be doing now if you weren’t in the middle of giving a lesson, according to your nephew. He supposed that sort of counts.

“It’s sort of a really busy time for her because of all the spring concerts,” said the kid, sounding wistfully apologetic on the phone. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“Thanks, kid,” he said, before they both hung up.

In fact, you were practically booked solid on all of the days that he happened to be available, the perpetual curse of adulthood. Normally, he would have just cancelled his own meetings or shifted them around a bit on his calendar, but for his own good, Pepper had told FRIDAY to lock down the app with several passwords and checks that even he couldn't be bothered to try to break through. If past Tony really wanted to lock present Tony out of something, there was nothing he could about it except wait for future Tony to figure it out. Being this brilliant was sometimes too much of a burden. He sighed wearily to himself and tossed a wrench back into its toolbox that sat a few feet away, the tool making a harsh clatter as it fell among its brethren.

“Good to see you hard at work,” said an irritatingly chipper voice from below.

Tony ducked his head out from under the panel to find Steve strolling into the hangar, hands casually shoved into the pockets of his navy blue bomber jacket.

“Cap, just the man I wanted to see,” he greeted. “I need your advice on something.”  

Steve’s crystal blue eyes widened with curiosity as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, leaning his elbows against the back. “Sure. Shoot.”

“What did you and Barnes used to do when one of you was mad at the other?”

“What did you do, Tony?” groaned Steve.

“Why do you automatically assume it was me?”

“When is it _not_ you?”

“You know what, forget I said anything. The door’s that way. Bye.”

“Tony, c’mon,” sighed, Steve. “I want to help. This must be really bothering you if you’re asking _me_ for advice. Is it Rhodey?”

“No, it’s not Rhodey. It’s ____.”

“The woman from the Expo? The composer? Wait, you’re asking me for relationship advice? You? The playboy?”

“It’s not that kind of relationship, Cap. ____ and I are just friends. Well, we were starting to be but then I fucked it up.”

Steve waited for Tony to elaborate but he wouldn’t budge. Sure, they were friends and teammates but the last thing he wanted was for Steve to tell Jan, which would lead to the entire team would knowing that Tony Stark was hung up over a girl. Probably within the same hour. News tended to travel fast when there wasn’t a world to save.

“Well, you asked what Bucky and I do when something like this happens and honestly…” he paused, leaning against his elbow on the back of his chair. “We give each other a few days to cool off and then we go see a movie together. By the time the movie’s over, we both just come to a conclusion that our friendship is more important than whatever dumb thing we were fighting about.”

In hindsight, what you and Tony fought about wasn’t dumb. He helped a stranger cheat on her boyfriend and then he dragged you into it too, and that was a pretty serious fuck-up on his part. And that was before he knew this wasn’t your first run-in with infidelity.

“And that really works?” he asked, finally hopping down from his step ladder. “You don’t hash it out or anything?”

“Sometimes, we need to. Sometimes, we don’t,” said Steve with a shrug. “It’s all about picking your battles. Believe me, I’ve been using that strategy with you for years, Tony.”

Of course, Captain America would be saying something like ‘pick your battles.’ As if on cue, Tony’s stomach began to grumble. Was it time for dinner already? A few minutes later, Tony found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the island. As he watched his burrito turn in the microwave, Tony realized he really did spend the whole day listening to his friends tell him to just apologize already.

* * *

 

Yup, you were a genius. A talented, crafty, and introverted genius. And you were doing an amazing job of hiding your genius beneath your laidback exterior.

As Tony peeled himself off the couch that he fell asleep on, it finally dawned on him why you let your college student nephew be your assistant. The kid was stuck in class for up to six hours a day and barely ever answered his phone...or maybe that was just a Gen Z thing, because he usually got a response whenever he emailed. Either way, you made sure it was impossible to get a hold of you as long as your nephew was still in his classes.

Craig ____-Rivera had some nerve sending him to voicemail twice in a row. In the end, he just gave up and told FRIDAY to leave a message.

His cluttered desk looked just slightly messier than the way he left it last night, but he was probably just imagining things. That last half hour of tinkering before he gave in and passed out always felt like it went by in a blur.

As soon as his eyes landed on his monitors, the sensors built into the frames read his half-lidded eyes and powered on, showing his equally cluttered desktop. With a flick of his fingers, he began tossing things into the trash bin in the corner of the screen until the sight of three blue icons in the shape of music notes made him freeze. Oh right, you had sent him the first three songs. Just digital arrangements, of course, but he could barely contain his excitement, especially when he saw what you had named each song.

He reached for “A Summer Afternoon” and dragged it to the music player. His workshop was soon flooded with the sound of music. Tony wrinkled his nose at the first few bars. It was a classical piece, soft, simple, and appropriately named. There were delicate strings and woodwinds on the surface with an acoustic guitar layered beneath. It sounded like adventure and the great unknown, but could also be a relaxing walk under the sun.

Without even looking at the accompanying notes you had left, he knew that you wrote “A Summer Afternoon” for the greenhouse exhibit. You were picturing a tranquil yet enlightening experience for guests as they wandered through its beautifully controlled ecosystem.

The other tracks were completely different, to his surprise. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to the order in which you were producing these.

“The Work We’re Doing” was an synth tune with a funky bass groove that you included two different versions of. One was more synth heavy and the other was more bass heavy, just because you couldn’t decide. You noted that these were meant to be used somewhere in the main exhibition hall, where exactly was for him to decide. The last song was adorably named, “C’est le Science,” and he immediately decided that it was his favorite of the three because it was a jazz trio piece that featured a piano melody. He probably would have sat there for hours listening to it on repeat if didn’t get an urgent call from your nephew.

“It’s an emergency, Mr. Stark,” exclaimed Craig.

“What? What’s going on? Is ____ ok? Is she hurt?” he demanded, putting a hand to his earpiece as he quickly made his way over his suits.

“No, she’s fine. It’s just...she didn’t tell me she was going otherwise I would have stopped her.”

“Going? Where is she going? What’s happening?” he demanded with urgency.

“She’s going to her ex’s engagement party. Mr. Stark, you have to do something. It’s at a Benihana’s. A Benihana’s!”

Tony immediately halted, staring hard into the glass that held his latest model as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Kid, I would hardly call that an emergency.”

“I didn’t think you would listen to me, otherwise,” said Craig, no doubt throwing his hands into the air. Like nephew, like aunt. “Ok, she’s not in mortal danger, but she’s emotionally compromised.”

“No.”

“Please, Mr. Stark. I didn’t know who else to call. I know you’re just trying to hook up with my aunt, but…”

“I am _not_ just trying to hook up with your aunt,” he quickly retorted. “Why do people keep accusing me of hooking up with their aunts?”

“Ok but ever since she started talking to you, she stopped worrying about her dumb ex. I know you’re really busy, but you’re probably the only one she’ll listen to.”

“I highly doubt that. Plus, your aunt is kind of mad at me, right now.”

“Maybe if you show up, she’ll be so mad at you that she forgets to go to the thing. And how'd you manage to piss her off? She’s, like, the chillest person ever.”

“That’s…” he trailed off, not sure if he should share the sordid details of his sex life with some kid. “Ask her when you’re older.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly,” was all Tony said before he hung up, tossing his earpiece on to a nearby table.

Tony glared back at his armor, his own blue eyes not directly lining up with the eyes of his faceplate. You didn’t need him and you especially didn’t need him to barge in and “rescue” you. Yet he didn’t think he could go another hour knowing that you were still talking to the asshole who broke your heart. Sure, he was a lying and cheating bastard too, but at least he didn’t get off on seeing his exes agonize over him.

His workshop’s concrete walls echoed with the sound of Tony’s exasperated groans as he called for FRIDAY. Twenty four hours of cooling off was plenty of time, he justified to himself as the glass barrier held his armor began to lower towards the floor.

* * *

 

As he approached his destination, his helmet’s HUD zoomed in on the Benihana parking lot where you were currently getting out of a rideshare vehicle, exchanging a few words with the driver before they pulled out of the parking lot. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head named FRIDAY that suggested he land behind the restaurant to avoid attracting attention, but he wasn’t listening to her today. Besides, you had already seen him, judging from the way you turned around and stared straight up into the sky.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you huffed, clenching your fist around the handle of your purse as he landed a few feet away from you, the legs of his armor hitting the concrete with a metallic clang.

“Wait, ____,” Tony called after you, his voice filtered slightly through his suit's speakers.

You sardonically wondered if he couldn't decide which of his sports cars to drive so he just decided to take his suit instead. Tony didn't miss the defiant stare you gave him before you turned and began making your way towards the restaurant in spite of him. He let out a frustrated noise as he stepped out of his unraveling armor, ordering it to find some cover behind some decorative hedges before he chased after you.

“____! Can you please just hear me out?” he asked, reaching for your arm.

You spun around so fast that he flinched, holding up his other arm reflexively from years of combat experience. The rational part of his brain knew you were harmless, but that didn’t mean you weren’t capable of wounding him with words when you were angry. You could definitely be a badass when you wanted to be. He would probably be more in awe of your badass energy if it wasn't directed at him right now.

“No, Tony. Why don’t _you_ hear _me_ out for once?” you said, lowering your voice halfway through your sentence when a couple stepped outside and awkwardly tried to maneuver past you.

It was a goddamn miracle that he hadn’t been recognized at this point. But he supposed it was because he hadn’t bothered to change out of the old Green Day t-shirt and faded jeans he had been wearing since last night.

“Contrary to what you might believe, I have a life, ok? Stop showing up randomly and asking me to go to second locations with you!” you finished once the couple was out of earshot.

“I will when you stop making poor decisions about your ex,” he retorted, gesturing to the mock Imperial Japanese building you were standing outside. “Seriously? He cheats on you and you’re going to his engagement party? At a fucking Benihana’s?”

“At least I’m not the one who consciously sleeps with other people’s girlfriends.”

“Ok, I deserved that but I never claimed to be a saint either. I’m doing you a favor. I’m saving you from a night of painful memories and subpar food, trust me,” said Tony, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re being very Christian Grey right now. I hope you know that. How’d you even know I was going to be here? Did you stalk me? Hack into my phone or something?” you narrowed your eyes.

“First of all, your nephew told me because he’s just as concerned as I am. Second, Christian Grey _wishes_ he were me. Third, I can’t believe you just made a _Fifty Shades_ reference. The implications of this are shaking me to my core.”

“I read it ironically! And you got the reference so you’re being implicated right now too, Tony.”

“And fourth!” he continued. “I’m giving you a choice, a really easy choice but it’s your decision, ____.”

“You keep saying you’re giving me a choice, but I get the feeling that you’re not going to leave me alone until I do what you want. That’s the opposite of a choice, Tony,” you said, laughing bitterly.

“You don’t want to be here, ____. You’re just choosing to torture yourself because you think it’ll make you feel better,” he explained and judging from the way you flared your nostrils, you knew he was right.

“But that’s my choice to make, Tony. Why are you even here anyways? You didn’t fly all the way from New York just to butt into my personal life, did you?”

“Well damn, you caught me. I was planning to take you to my secret sex dungeon, but now the surprise is ruined...”

The creak of the restaurant’s door brought your conversation to a screeching halt.

“____?”

Tony knew the look that overtook your face, the ‘I want to be vaporized by a death ray immediately’ look. He squared his shoulders as the only man in the universe who could have been Warren stepped outside. He looked exactly like what Tony had imagined, down to the completely forgettable face that had been mostly just a discombobulated blur in his head. What exactly did you see in him again?

“Megan saw you from the window. Is everything ok?” he asked, looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll be inside in a second. Work emergency,” you gritted your teeth, looking significantly angrier at the sight of Warren than Tony. The thought should have comforted him.

“Alright, if you say so,” said Warren, but quickly turning his attention to Tony. “And Mr. Stark. Can I just say it’s such an honor to meet you?”

“Listen, Warner,” started Tony.

“Actually, it’s Warren…”

Christ, this man was irritating, thought Tony as he ignored the name correction. “We would really appreciate it if you could give us some privacy.”

“I’ll be inside in a minute. I just need to take care of this,” you added, giving him a sympathetic look that Tony duly noted the man didn’t deserve in the slightest.

If anyone deserved some sympathy right now, it was Tony for resisting the urge to lay one out on your ex in the middle of a Benihana's parking lot. He's made the front cover of _Superhero Spin_ for less.

“Is this about the Expo music? Maybe I can help--”

“No!” shouted you and Tony in unison.

Warren held up his hands defensively, shaking his head as he retreated back inside like a scolded child. As soon as the door shut behind him, Tony gestured for you to follow him to the side of the building, preferring to continue this heated conversation in a place with just a little more privacy than the front entrance of a busy restaurant. To his surprise, you actually went along but probably because you weren’t done yelling at him yet. Fuck, he really screwed the pooch on this, didn’t he?

“I’m here because I’m trying to apologize for the other night, ____,” he told you once you were alone and way too angrily to be a real apology. Damn. He was going to have to try this again.

“Wow, thanks,” you replied bitterly. “I'm still going inside though.”

“Are you trying to make a power play or something? Are you secretly hoping he’ll change his mind and fall in love with you again?”

Dammit, Tony, he mentally yelled at himself. That’s not what an apology sounds like at all.

“No, Tony! God!” you shook your head with disgust.

“Then why are you here, ____? Why are you going out of your way for this guy?”

“Because he invited me. What else am I supposed to say?”

Tony scoffed, “How about ‘no?’ How about ‘get the fuck out of my life, you cheating bastard?’”

“I can't!”

“Sure, you can! It's easy and so satisfying!” he cheered. “Here, I'll come with you and you can say it to his face.”

“No, Tony, it’s fine. I’m handling it. Don’t worry about it,” you commanded rather than asked.

There it was. That stupid mantra again.

“Will you please stop saying that? You’re clearly not fine,” he pleaded angrily. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t do anything when I found out Nina had a boyfriend and I still didn’t do anything when she asked you to lie for her. I fucked up, ____ and I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but unlike that asshole in there, I actually care about you and I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore, not if I can help it.”

You heaved a tired sigh, leaning back against the wall as tears welled up in your eyes. He couldn’t blame you. The way your shoulders slumped in defeat told him you were emotionally and mentally drained. He took a cautious step forward, moving closer and closer until he was at your side. You began to slouch with your back against the wall and he took the spot next to you, staring at you while you kept your eyes to the ground.

“I know you don't want me here and I get it, but I'm trying to stop you before you do something you’ll regret. Just like you did for me. I didn't listen to you and I should have,” he professed, apologizing one last time before the words became stale. “I'm sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you anymore, Tony,” you admitted. “I’m more mad at myself.”

“Talk to me, ____. Let me help you, he offered quietly.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought being around him and working with him would give me closure, but it didn’t,” you shook your head. “And then I met you.”

The two of you exchanged soft smiles as your eyes met.

“It just seemed like you had so much faith in me,” you said. “And I thought, ‘Well, if this guy believes in me, then maybe I can make it on my own.’”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” he nodded. “Just one person. It’s how I got out of that cave in Afghanistan however many years ago and it’s how I’ve managed to stay sober all these years. You’re doing just fine, Waters.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

“In fact, you're doing way better than me. Trust me.”

“That doesn't sound right but I'll take it.”

“You better. Because I don't go around saying that to everyone.”

Tony felt himself swell with pride before he kicked off the wall and offered his hands to you, pulling you to your feet. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Where are we going?” you asked warily.

“My place?”

You let out a loud guffaw. “Oh right, your sex dungeon. How could I forget?”

“Har-har, no,” he retorted weakly. “I was thinking pizza, movies, and you getting some quality time with the piano.”

Your eyes lit up at that last bit, gasping in eager surprise. “Did you get it tuned, finally?”

“Waters, I found a guy and got it tuned the day after we met,” he laughed. “I promised you I would, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess you did,” you conceded, smiling softly at him.

He wanted to frame the smile that came over your face from his words. It was moments like these that made the past thirty six hours so agonizing. Tony called for his armor, nodding in approval as it came out of its hiding spot and dispersed into a million little hexagonal bits of machinery before swarming around him and reforming into his suit.

“Tony…what are you doing?” you asked warily, watching as the final pieces fell into place, sealing him inside.

“What does it look like, Waters? I’m gonna fly us there, unless you wanted to call another car,” he teased.

“Wait, are being serious right now? Because I can’t tell with the whole...” you gestured to your own face.

“Dead serious. C’mon,” he chuckled, his faceplate coming up so she could see the smirk on his lips. “Haven’t you always wondered what it was like to fly with Iron Man?”

“No, actually, I haven’t. Because I don’t have a death wish.”

“That’s hurtful,” Tony gasped, putting a red gauntlet over his glowing arc reactor. “I can assure you, it’s perfectly safe. Just ask any of the people I’ve rescued over the years.”

“Why are you like this?” you asked rhetorically, as you relented and stepped closer.

“I keep things exciting. I mean, admit it,” he paused, smirking at the surprised gasp that left your lips as he swept you off your feet in one fluid motion and lifted you into his arms. “Your life has gotten significantly more interesting since you met me.”

“‘Interesting’ isn’t the word I would use,” you mumbled as you squirmed in his arms with a displeased frown. “Or ‘exciting.’”

The metal of his armor was cold against the bare skin of your thighs as you tried to make yourself comfortable. Meanwhile, Tony was trying his best not to drop you but you were moving around like a cat that was being held over a cold bath. He even slid his faceplate down just in case you decided to paw at his face. Finally, you reluctantly wrapped your arms around his neck, and in turn, the hand that was on your back tightened reassuringly.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” you breathed, wrapping your arms closer around his neck.

“Do you trust me?”

“I…” you paused, and he could have sworn your gaze was piercing right through his helmet and into his eyes. “Yes, I trust you.”

Tony’s trademark smirk never left his lips as he and FRIDAY ran the calculations for the amount of thrust needed for a stable flight with passenger in his arms.

“We’re go for flight, boss,” said FRIDAY, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Good,” Tony replied to you both.

Your heart throttled in your chest when he began to lift off, hovering a few stories above the ground before he glanced down at you. According to his scanners, your bpm was racing out of control, a digital ekg popping up in the corner of his HUD, and yours wasn’t the only one.

“See? This isn’t so bad, right?” he asked, his suit’s speakers amplifying his voice to compensate for the booming noise of his repulsors.

“This is insane,” you had to shout back.

From this height, you could see the adjacent shopping mall and residential sprawl. He heard you laugh, smiling up at him.

“In a good or bad way?”

“I’m not sure yet. Good, I think,” you said, gazing out into the distance as your eyes followed Torrence Ave all the way down to the beach.

You felt Tony’s grip on you tighten before he shot off like a rocket towards Malibu. Despite being kind of terrifying, you had to admit this was a lot better than sitting in traffic. Beneath you, there were miles and miles of cars trapped in their typical afternoon gridlock before the view eventually became the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean. The wind was freezing against your skin, going from refreshing to frigid in a matter of seconds but you had never felt more alive. Sure, you had never wondered what it was like to fly with Iron Man, but now that you were up here with Tony, you wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything in the world.

You were still clinging to him like a lifeline when he landed with a sharp bump on his driveway. Tony kept a gloved hand on your lower back to hold you steady as he set your feet on the ground. He probably should have warned you of the inevitable dizziness and disorientation that came with flying at that speed.

“____? Are you ok?” he asked, retracting his helmet back completely so he could see your face with his own. “Are you going to barf? Faint? I tried not to go too fast.”

“Just...gimme a second,” you breathed, closing your eyes as your knees wobbled like a newborn fawn’s. “Man, I really hope I don’t barf.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he joked, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re ok, Waters. You’re ok. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You had lost both of your shoes somewhere over Redondo Beach and there was a braided indent from where the chain of your crossbody had dug into your shoulder. Your hair was wind-whipped and dangling in your face, but Tony thought you had never looked more beautiful. Maybe it was just the adrenaline talking or the heightened emotions from earlier, but he didn’t care. You were...are beautiful. And he was an idiot for denying it for so long.

“Tony?” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a--”

“Glass of water?” he finished.

“Wise guy,” you chuckled, meeting his smirk with one of your own.

Tony took a step back and allowed his armor to disassemble before your eyes, revealing the man beneath the suit. “Tell you what. I’ll let you queue up the first movie, while I get get us some refreshments,” he proposed, his hand once again finding itself on the small of your back as he led you inside.

“Sounds like a party to me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so difficult to write, which is why it took so long (on top of school and shit) but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Those of you who have been waiting for more romance, I can officially say that this chapter is pretty cute. Chapter 12 was brought to you by Target dollar section candles and the song, "Make You Feel" by Alina Baraz and Galimatias. Please give it a listen while you read so you can get in the mood. ;)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!

The first thing Tony did when he led you inside his mansion was make sure that you were taken care of. You were practically hugging yourself for warmth and you still had goosebumps on your arms and legs from both the cold beating air and the thrill of flying. He grabbed another one of those lusciously soft mink blankets off a couch and threw it over your shoulders. One of these days you were going to walk out of one of his residences with one of these blankets and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. 

“I'm fine, Tony,” you tried to reassure him weakly but he was insistent. 

“No, you're shivering,” he pointed out, as he teasingly lifted the top of the blanket over your head like a hood. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

The gravity of his words were sinking in as you peered up at him from your makeshift cloak. Tony really could be thoughtful when the situation called for it. 

“Well, some food would be nice, since you axed my dinner plans,” you quipped, tugging the blanket tighter around you. 

“And I regret nothing. Let me just get you settled in and I’ll go pick up that pie,” he nodded, glancing down at his watch with a knowing smile. 

The ends of the blanket dragged on the smooth marble floors like a cape as he led you through his home. It was crazy to think that the last time you were here, it was past midnight and the space was filled to the brim with people and music. Now, it was just the two of you and a warm Malibu sunset. 

When you reached his screening room, he motioned for you to take a seat in one of the plush reclining loungers before handing you a small, black remote. Tony made a show of clapping his hands twice to lower the screen and fire up the popcorn machine, earning a cheeky rebuke from FRIDAY which he rolled his eyes at. As you watched Tony bicker with the ceiling, you wondered how you could have possibly considered missing out on this just to go to your ex's engagement thing. Even when it was a party of one, Tony Stark was always a gracious host. 

“Anyway,” Tony’s voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “I'll take care of dinner. You just sit tight and pick the first movie.” 

“Whoa, that's a lot of power you're leaving in my hands,” you chuckled, beginning to flip through the menus. 

“I have the utmost faith in you,” he nodded, placing a warm hand on your shoulder that left as soon as it came. “Any preference on pizza toppings?” 

“Not really? As long as they’re there,” you shrugged before echoing his words back at him. “I have the utmost faith in you.” 

He grinned at your joke, shooting an appreciative finger gun at you as he slowly backed out of the room. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, FRIDAY helped you navigate a seemingly endless list of movies on the giant screen. Unsurprisingly, he owned every single  _ Captain America _ propaganda film and an overwhelming number of sci-fi classics. Just when you thought you had narrowed it down, you found yourself picking up the remote again, trying to find the better choice you had forgotten the name of. 

You reached into your bag for your phone, but the name that greeted you on the screen halted you in your tracks. Warren. 

_ Saw you take off with Iron Man??? Guess you’re not coming back for the dinner. Everything ok?  _

Well that was nice of him to check in on you, but you couldn’t help the lukewarm feelings and sour taste that lingered. He probably wouldn’t have given a damn if it was Beth coming to pick you up. Then again, if it was Beth, you probably would have had to hold her back from decking Warren in the face. What was with your friends and punching people in your honor? Your fingers hovered over the screen, wondering how to respond when FRIDAY reminded you that Tony was only a few minutes away. That was quick. 

You had falsely decided on five completely different movies when Tony re-joined you with a hot box of pizza balanced on one hand and two bottles of San Pellegrino held in the other. 

“So what are we watching tonight?” he asked as you run up the stairs to relieve him of some of the burden. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” you smiled sheepishly. “There’s way too much to choose from.” 

The pizza smelled absolutely divine and you felt like a weirdo for wanting to hug it for warmth. You glance down at the box in your hands, gawking at address printed on the cardboard. 

“San Francisco? Tony, you went to San Francisco just to get pizza? How did you even…” 

“I called ahead, Waters. How do you think?” he smirked, miming the gesture for flying with his hand. “Just try it. It’s probably the best place on the west coast.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you grinned, lifting the cover a smidge to give it a whiff. 

“Besides, I did my job and got the food, but you still haven’t picked the movie yet,” he teased, setting the bottles of mineral water into lounge chairs’ armrest cup-holders. 

“You have way too many movies. How am I supposed to choose? What do you even want to watch?” you asked, bringing up your knees to sit criss crossed with the pizza on your lap. 

“Why don’t we watch one of yours?” he suggested.

“They’re not technically  _ mine _ ,” you pointed out. 

“Ok, but your name’s in the credits, right?” he smiled, carefree. 

“I guess,” you shrugged, still unconvinced. “But wouldn’t you rather watch...I dunno, literally anything else?” 

“Now, I want to watch them even more. Ooh, maybe we can watch them  _ all _ . We’ve got all the time in the world,” he grinned like a child in a candy store. 

“Not quite, boss. You and Miss. Potts have a conference call with the Tokyo office tomorrow morning,” reminded FRIDAY. 

Tony’s lips pursed together as he nodded in grim acceptance. “Ok fine, so we don’t have all the time in the world, but we can probably get through most of them.” 

“We can watch one or two,” you rolled your eyes. “Choose wisely.” 

“Ah, ah, ah, I told you to choose, remember?” he smirked, holding out a paper plate that dipped slightly from the weight of the slice of pizza.

Tony sat up a little straighter, cheering in victory as you addressed FRIDAY and asked her to run a search. You immediately crossed off the first two movies you worked on, since they weren’t really reflective of your abilities now. Sure, they had your fingerprints all over them, but you had grown a little since then.  _ The Glass Blossom _ was a phenomenal film, but it was probably too much of a downer for a casual night in with a friend, which only left exactly one or two choices. 

“What’s this one about?” Tony asked, as you pulled up  _ Buried Secrets _ . 

“A retired CIA assassin has to go out of retirement when he finds out people are doing bad things under his name.” 

“Sounds like every other Tuesday,” scoffed Tony. 

You gave him an incredulous look. To which he clarified, “It’s a long story, ____. Actually, it’s several long stories. Trust me.” 

“Is that why you’re not retired?” you snorted. 

“I’m not retired because I love what I do,” he replied assuredly. “All parts of it. And there’s way too much for me to do...for either of us to retire now.” 

“Right.” 

Sure, you weren’t a superhero or the owner of a multi-billion dollar company or a genius inventor, but you still had things you wanted to share with the world too. One single Oscar wasn’t going to keep you satisfied or slow you down. It wasn’t the trophy or the accolades that kept you behind that piano. It was the piano itself. 

“Besides, I’m sure you have another forty of these to go,” he grinned, gesturing to the screen as the main title of  _ Buried Secrets _ began to play behind a series of flashing images of 60s Americana, blacked out CIA dossiers, and the actors’ names on typewriter font. 

“You know what, I think I have another fifty to go,” you smiled brightly. 

“Atta girl.” 

You thought distracting yourself from the Warren problem would help but your thoughts wandered over to Tony instead. He was oddly silent as the movie played and it made you incredibly nervous. What if he didn’t like the movie? What if he didn’t like your score? Worst of all, what if he thought the score was the weak link? 

You were hardly paying attention when the bearded veteran actor was tearing through his liquor cabinet in a frenzy, frantically withdrawing a bottle of whiskey and slamming it harshly on to the counter. He took a few harsh breaths before unscrewing the lid and pouring a splash over the deep knife wound on his forearm, hissing in pain at the sting. The agent gave the bottle a long, hard stare and took a swig before stitching up and bandaging his wound. 

“Uh-oh, do you not like the pizza? Should I have gotten Thai instead?” 

His words snapped you out of your daze. You realized that you had only eaten a single slice of pizza while Tony was probably already on his third, judging from what was left in the box. 

“No, it’s amazing, really,” you shook your head, reaching for another piece. “I was just...thinking.” 

“About what?” he asked, the movie momentarily forgotten. 

“Nothing.” 

“You can’t make that face and tell me it's nothing,” he said, reaching for the remote to pause the movie. “C’mon, talk to me, Waters.” 

“It’s so stupid…” you groaned, reaching for your phone. “Warren texted me and I don’t know how to respond. Should I even respond?” 

“Is that even a question? No, don’t respond. It is my professional opinion that you should ghost his ass,” he proclaimed. 

“But it feels rude not to respond when he asked if I was ok,” you reasoned. 

“So?” Tony shrugged. “Did he ask if you were ok while he was seeing that other girl? Or did he leave that out too?” 

He was right. Too right. And he was also the last person that you wanted to admit it to.

“You want me to blow up his phone? Literally?” he offered casually. “I can up the temperature on that battery so fast, it’ll sear a steak.” 

“As funny as that would be, no. I would like to stay within the realm of the law,” you rolled your eyes. 

“He won’t know it was me,” reassured Tony. “It’s embarrassingly easy. I’ve done it before.” 

You gawked in disbelief and it was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes, like it was as simple as making a prank call at a high school sleepover. 

“Oh my god. You’re an Avenger,” you stated. “You have diplomatic immunity.” 

“Some restrictions apply,” he added. “I’m not exactly welcome in Latveria...or certain sectors of space.”

“Yeah, I can see why. Is it because you’ve threatened to blow up Dr. Doom’s phone too?” you joked. 

“Victor doesn’t have a phone, unfortunately.” 

You supposed it was another long story, how Tony got to be on a first name basis with the ruling monarch of Latveria, even if it was said mockingly. 

“I don’t know why you’re acting so shocked,” he shrugged, swiping a stray piece of pepperoni from the box. “I’m human, ____. Just like you. I’m not above petty revenge schemes.”

“But property damage?” you held out your palms and weighed the options. 

“Ok fine. We won’t make his phone explode, even though I think it would be hilarious. But bare minimum, I think you should actually listen to me and Beth and stop talking to him. It’s not healthy.” 

“Ok,” you breathed. “Done. What else?” 

Tony blinked his ocean blue eyes and smiled. 

“That’s it, ____. That’s all you need to do. He’s just keeping you around so he can get off on the fact that he’s still making your life miserable. It’s classic male narcissism,” explained Tony without missing a beat. 

Now that Tony mentioned it, it made a whole lot of sense for Warren, a guy who loved to hear himself talk and perform. And it also explained why he was marrying his fiancee. Sometimes, you almost felt sorry for her. Any semblance of personality that she might have had seemed to gradually disappear in order to make room for his. You wondered how they managed to fit his ego into their new house. 

“Oh, really? And what does that make you?” 

“____, I’m a narcissist, but at least I have a conscience,” he reasoned. “It’s why people love me so much.” 

“All of what you just said is still up in the air.” 

“And that's hurtful.” Even though you knew he wasn’t hurt at all. 

“Narcissists feed off the attention so you’re going to cut him off,” he explained. “Plus, you said he was married?” 

“Engaged.” 

Tony made a puzzled face, eyebrows furrowing in exasperation. 

“So he can get plenty of attention from home. In the best possible way, you’re not the one marrying him.”

“Right,” you nodded, tossing your phone back into your bag without a second glance. “There. Ghosted.” 

“Good. Now let's finish this movie. I want to know if the guy's son ever finds out.”

He unpaused the movie and your soft woodwind piece resumed in the background. The former spy and his high school-aged daughter watched as his older son pulled out of the driveway with a hatchback full of his belongings and began making the drive to college after tear-filled goodbyes. You remembered the note you made in your notebook when you watched this scene for the first time, the script propped up on one of your music stands. As the camera flashes back to a portrait of a weary father's face, the music swells and then halts. The voice of the daughter could be heard off camera. 

“Do you think he’ll be ok?” she asked. “You’re not going to tell him?” 

Her father’s eyes flickered, his expression going from nostalgic to melancholic. “He’ll be safer there than here, that’s for sure.” 

The camera shifts to a wide shot of the father and daughter pair as they watch their pastoral New England neighborhood pass by. “Besides, you know Riley. There are some things he just doesn’t get. Things he wouldn’t understand.” 

His daughter crossed her arms over her chest, the various pins and badges on her denim jacket glinting in the sun. “Glad to know you trust me enough to put my life in danger.” 

“I’m not,” her father replied gruffly. “You’re going to go to school and you’re going to pretend you didn’t see anything this morning.” 

“And I’m definitely not going to tell mom.” 

“No, definitely not.” 

There’s a pause before they head back towards their red-door colonial. And that was the last moment of peace before the movie descended into a non-stop adrenaline ride of action scenes. It was almost impossible to not notice the way Tony tensed up at every explosion, even though there weren’t many. You wondered if you had made the wrong choice in movie, but he seemed to sense your concern, especially when he caught you glancing over after the hero barely rolls out of a moving car before it’s lit up in a cloud of flames and black smoke. 

“I’m fine,___,” he mouthed. 

“Are you sure?” you whispered. “We can watch something else.” 

You felt a jolt go through your back when his hand rested on top of yours on the arm rest. His eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t sure if yours could do the same. His said he didn’t blame you, but appreciated your care and concern. Just like you appreciated his. It was probably too much to turn your hand over and lace your fingers with his, so you didn’t. Even though the gesture felt like the most natural next step. Even though you knew that hand would feel so large and warm holding yours. 

“Why are we whispering?” he whispered back. 

You laughed softly, your hand underneath his curling up into a loose fist. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.” 

“But seriously, don’t worry about me,” he nodded, his eyes flickering to your hands. “This helps.” 

Thankfully, he couldn’t see the apple of your cheeks flushing red in the dark of the theater. You had never felt so hopeless and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Heartbreak was a intense and dynamic concept. Emotions were heightened, and your heart was swelled up to twice its size. You knew you were playing right into his hands, literally, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Moments alone with Tony were few and far between and he was just too damn charming. Was it so wrong to relish the attention? To feel wanted and desired? Even if it was just for one night? 

“We can watch something light afterwards,” you suggested. 

“Actually, I was thinking we could pay a visit to the piano. Take a little break before the next one.” 

You immediately sat up straighter in your seat. “Or we could just go now.” 

“Can I at least finish this movie first?” he laughed, his fingers closing around your knuckles. “I want to know what happens. Plus, the score is amazing.” 

The movie resumed with the hero locking and loading his way through a secret cabinet in his basement before speeding off to country estate of the former CIA director that set him up. The tense strings of your piece accompanied him as he slithered through the topiary and fountain filled gardens, mowing down swaths of CIA agents and hired security guards. 

You and Tony were still debating the ambiguous ending as you both took care of the dishes. Tony had offered you a glass of red wine, which you gladly accepted, while he poured himself a cup of cold brew from his fridge. The wine was rich and full bodied but had a hint of sweetness. Somehow it fit the mood perfectly. 

“So you just have all this wine in your cellar? I thought it was common knowledge that you’re sober.”

“Apparently not because people keep giving me liquor as gifts,” he rolled his eyes, before giving you a sheepish look. “Not that I’m hawking it off on you or anything. I just figured…” 

“Tony, it’s fine. It’s really good,” you reached for the bottle, letting out a low whistle when you saw the year on the label. 

Yup, you definitely weren't going to find this at the wine aisle at Costco You probably should have guessed from the way Tony had to remove it from an engraved wooden box after taking it off the top shelf. 

“See what I mean? I can't just let it go to waste,” he nodded, ice cubes clinking in his glass as he tipped it back. “At least, someone’s drinking it, right?” 

* * *

 

Tony didn’t want you to have to reach over him to get to the higher or lower octaves, so he was content to hold the drinks while he sat on a modern steel and glass end table that probably wasn't meant for sitting but thankfully was able to support his weight. He watched as you lifted the lid on the keys as delicately as handling a newborn. You sucked in a breath as you beheld the magnificent instrument again, the same way you did when you played Edith’s. 

The loving smile on your face went beyond just vapid materialism but a genuine love and appreciation for the piano, both the instrument and the craft. These grand pianos represented a dream, a passion, a thirst for creation, something that he would never be able to understand completely, yet the feeling was all too familiar to him. 

You stretched your fingers and wrists before lifting your hands to the keys to play a few warm up scales and chromatics. Tony laughed as you made a dramatic show of tipping back your wine glass before handing it back to him. He did seem a disappointed to have missed out on the Quinton Carmichael tribute so you figured you would start there. 

Given his massive sci-fi movie collection, you began with one of the more familiar pieces from the  _ Love Across the Universes _ trilogy, unable to stop the smile breaking away from your lips at Tony’s eyes glinting in recognition. Sure, you chose the piece for him, but part of it was because you wanted to relive that night. You wanted to show people that what you did wasn’t a frivolous pastime or a romantic whim. You weren’t a starving artist or a dreamer in way over her head. Music was your passion, your love, your everything, and somehow you just knew that Tony would understand. 

When you finished the short medley, Tony didn't clap but the awed and stunned expression said it all. 

“How’d you know that was my favorite part of the movie?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Which part? It plays in more than one scene,” you pointed out. “Personally, I liked it better in the--” 

“The big reunion scene,” he completed your thought, nodding his head. “At the fancy space party.” 

“Yeah, me too,” you grinned. 

“Did you work on that piece too?” he asked, handing you your drink. 

“A little,” you replied. “Not to brag or anything, but the little cello interlude was my idea.” 

“Well, it’s the best interlude I’ve ever heard,” he flirted effortlessly. 

“Shut up,” you nudged him playfully from the bench. “Just tell me what to play next.” 

Tony made a humming noise as he thought, and that was how the two of you spent the next hour and a half. He would name a song, genre, or mood, and you would do your best to honor that request. The laughs were plentiful and there was even a trip back to the kitchen to refill your glass of wine but you always found your way back on to that bench. 

The moon was high in the sky and tugging on the tides when Tony made the only request that you managed to reject. 

“‘ Für  Elise.’” 

“Ok, anything else BUT ‘ Für  Elise.’” 

“Do you have anything else from the Expo? Pepper’s been wondering when you can start getting into the studio. We just need a rough ballpark date.” 

“Sure, I should have a few more demos to show you by the end of next week, but after that, I think we can start recording,” you nodded. “God it feels like it’s coming up so fast.” 

“Tell me about it. No one can ever agree if there’s a million things left to do or a billion.” 

You let out a bright laugh, holding out your hand for your wine glass. “For me, it’s probably a million and a half, but for you, it’s probably at a billion.” 

“Well, at least I know I’m not the only one scrambling.” 

“Tony, it’s going to be great.” 

“I know,” he sighed through his nose. “And I'm really glad you're going to be there too.”

“Me too. I'm so excited, and I can't wait to see when everything's all finished.” 

Tony watched curiously as you pulled out a very familiar worn, leather notebook. He had seen it before at all of your previous meetings and when you were touring the Expo site. If he remembered correctly, you were scribbling notes in it the entire time. The rubber band holding it shut was stretching way past the notebook’s original thickness from all the various notes and clippings that you had shoved inside it. 

He was expecting elegant strokes, an extensive color-coding system, and pretty, delicate drawings but when you pulled the band aside and began flipping through it for him to see, he was greeted with hasty scrawls, bleeding ink, and harsh lines through music notes and letters alike. It felt almost...intimate, like you were showing him your diary, the good, the bad, and the messy. 

“Wow, your notes look like my brain,” he teased, poking the center of your forehead. “Except...no, yeah, yours are definitely neater. I’m guessing you’re not a fan of digital?” 

You let out a soft and melodious laughter as you continued to turn the pages, trying to find the one section you wanted to play for him. 

“I am, I just don’t have the newer Expo pieces in the cloud, at the moment,” you gestured vaguely to the air in front of you. “Besides, I do my best work when it’s pen to paper.” 

“Geez, you sound like Cap,” Tony smirked. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you smiled haughtily.

“You should. He’s great....when he’s not being annoying.” 

“You’re great too when you’re not being annoying.”

“Aww,” gushed Tony. “Thanks, honey.” 

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” you rallied back with an achingly saccharine smile and a crooked tilt of your head. 

It felt like a dangerous game of chicken. How far were you going to let your car speed towards the cliff before you slammed on the brakes? There were times when the connection you felt to Tony were too strong to bear, but a majority of the time, you were beating yourself up over a silly crush. You had to keep reminding yourself that weren’t the only one who had gotten lost in those deep blue eyes or that rakishly handsome smile. 

You finally found the pages you were looking for and propped it up on the music stand, eager to get your brain away from your heart. 

“I'm only halfway through the arrangements for this, but I can kind of give you a bit of what it would sound like,” you offered. 

“Sure,” he nodded, sitting up straighter, as if giving you his complete attention. 

And as Tony watched your fingers dance across the keys, he could see it too. The way you used your music to bury words and emotions left unsaid, the same way he used his work to distract himself from feeling emotions like guilt or intimacy. It was strange, almost like you were opposite sides of the same coin. Completely different faces but forged from the same mettle and mold. 

“Well?” your voice broke him out of his thoughts. “What do you think?” 

You were staring at him expectantly as he blinked back to life. “What’s that one called?” he asked. 

It was a bullshit question, but he needed a few more seconds of think time. What did he think? What did he think? He definitely liked the song. There was no doubt about that, but it made him space out, which he supposed was better than doze off. No, he could definitely do better than that. 

You let out a harsh breathe, and he noted the gears turning in your head. Maybe you needed a bit of think time too. “It’s called…” you paused, chuckling at yourself, the hesitation in your voice as clear as day. “It’s called ‘Tony and Harrison.’”

You must have took his silence as an prompt to elaborate. “It was actually the first song I wrote after I took the job, after you told me about him, that night in New York.” 

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Tony, his eyes gazing warmly into yours. 

“Thank you,” you blushed. “I actually wasn’t planning to ever play it for you.” 

“Why not?” he wondered, his voice coming out quieter than he wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged and laughed like it was a joke that you only understood. “Maybe I didn’t want you think it was too personal? I didn’t know you that well then.” 

“And what about now? Would you say that you know me well enough now?” he teased, quirking up one his eyebrows. “In the month and a half we’ve known each other?” 

He was putting you on the spot, and he knew it. And if you weren’t on the spot, you would have  seen it too. Tony knew that look, the furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. You were trying to find a rational explanation for something that was completely irrational. A fruitless quest. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing up from your hands. “Has it really been a whole month?” 

“And a half,” he filled in. 

“You’ve helped me a lot. I guess, I’d say we’ve gotten a little closer since then,” you had to admit. 

Tony Stark had the art of seduction down to a science, and he knew how this would have played out in his head, both if it was you and if it was anyone else but you. It didn’t matter. 

This was a moment and he would have went for it. He would have went for it like the bastard he was.

With that devilishly handsome smirk, he wouldn’t have wasted another second before asking, “And just how much closer do you want to get, sweetheart?” 

He would have leaned over and slid the cover back over the piano so he could prop himself up on it. You’d stare cluelessly up at him like a deer in headlights and that’s when he would kiss you, softly and gently, as tenderly as the way you handled his mother’s prized Steinway. His other hand would come up to cup the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. Your breaths would shudder as your hands moved to hold on to his shoulders before slowly sliding down his chest--

“Tony?” 

No, it did matter. You mattered. He snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that he hadn’t moved at all. He was still sitting on that side table next the piano and you were a bench away. 

“Are you ok? You spaced out for a second,” you asked, concern lacing your voice. 

Tony reached for the lid of the piano, but you had already beat him to it, your fingers carefully sliding it forward to cover the keys. He handed you the empty drink glasses so he could lower the case until the next time you came along to lift it again. Until then, “a little closer,” while weathered and treasured, was never going to be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please come say hi to me on tumblr @ pink-mecha.tumblr.com 
> 
> My blog looks a little empty, but I promise I'm active.
> 
> Edit: thank you so much for 300 kudos!!! Your continued support and kind comments means the world to me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! Thank you so much for waiting for me, especially the kind, beautiful folks who left me a comment on my little update post. There were so many days where I wondered, "What's the point?" and I thought people would lose interest because I hadn't updated in forever, but thank you for being patient with me. 
> 
> This was another tough chapter that I had to rewrite a few times to finally get to how I wanted. I know it's been a while but I hope you enjoy it. :') [Also you're not going crazy, I had to change my username for personal reasons.] 
> 
> Songs:   
> I Wish I Could (feat. Selah Sue) - TOKiMONSTA  
> Slowly - Giraffage, Matosic

One of the perks of being your own boss was that you hardly ever had to set an alarm. Today, it was the stay-at-home dad next door giving their lawn monthly trim and treatment. You sat up in your bed, rubbing your eyes and nearly rolled back over on top of your laptop. After another late night falling asleep to the sound of Tony Stark interviews and profiles, you didn’t want to look at YouTube or watch the news for at least another month. 

It’s beautiful, he said it was beautiful.

In fact, he asked you to reconsider your decision, promising that he would talk to the committee so they could find a place for “Tony and Harrison.” You said you would think about it, but you already knew where the song would fit perfectly. He said he couldn’t wait to hear more and you told him that you were already hard at work on the last couple of pieces. Then, he drove you home and you both said your goodnights with a perfectly platonic hug and a wave from your doorstep before he sped off. 

That was a few weeks ago and you had been working feverishly ever since. With Tony busier than ever and never having time for anything more than phone calls and video chats, everything had settled into a routine for you. You fell back on familiar practices and tried to find a substitute for the film clips that directors would send you for reference. The NSA probably thought you had gone insane from all the different web searches you’d done on Tony Stark within the past few days. 

There was the more pleasant and light-hearted content: the surprise hospital visits to sick children, the lightning-round interviews conducted in rooms filled with puppies, the over-the-shoulder walks through various tailors and menswear boutiques as Tony helped viewers put together a typical outfit for a night on the town. 

Then, there were the more character and career-defining moments.You must have watched the Afghanistan press conference at least five times, where Tony dissolved the weapons manufacturing division of Stark while the wounds on both his body and soul were still fresh. 

There was another interview with an infamous gotcha talk show host who knew exactly which buttons to push and what questions to ask about Tony’s troubled past in order to trigger a reaction. Tony had called him out on national television, but even from a video clip you could see the way he tensed up and tried to retreat back into his shell. 

You only had the stomach to watch that video once before curling up under the covers to call it a night. These weren’t scenes from a movie, no matter how edited or staged they could have been. There was some truth to them, even beneath all of the makeup and lights. Tony Stark was a person who spent practically his entire life in the spotlight and you were beginning to see the toll it was taking. According to the most dedicated fan sites and blogs, Tony didn’t have another interview with anyone for at least a few months following that fiasco. It must have been hell on him because the public appearances and galas didn’t cease regardless. 

It was like you were searching for something beyond the forced smiles and sassy remarks, something that you might have missed from your pleasant conversations. Maybe you should have stuck to what you knew best, what you had planned when you first took this job. A jazz piece with a loud brass section and funk-style rhythm with plenty of hi-hat. But the tricky part was figuring out how to make it sound like him, how to make it stand out. In the end, you wrote dozens of different pieces for the Expo, some classical, some jazz. You had even taken a day to yourself to rent out a recording space and recorded a few solo piano pieces. 

In every single video and interview, there was something in his eyes that struck you, an immense pain that you could never truly understand. You, with your perfect childhood, your still-alive parents that adored you, and your perfectly reasonable level of invisible fame. There was no reason that the two of you should have been friends and yet you were. If he was aware of your staggering differences, he showed no signs of resentment or envy, which made him all the more admirable in your eyes. 

Following the night at Tony’s place, Beth had requested to hang out with you at least once before she jetted off to New Zealand for her next role and you flew out to New York for the Expo. Normally, you and Beth were the type of friends who danced around actually hanging out because of her schedule, but still kept in contact everyday digitally. The fact that she was being responsible and insisting on a specific date, time, and location was a huge indicator of her urgency. 

Instead of brunch, you and Beth decided to pick up burritos and enjoy them on a bench at the park across the street. You watched as various joggers ran by, some with strollers and some with dogs while elderly men played chess on concrete tables. The sound of the spouting fountain was supposed to be soothing, but Beth’s voice was your constant reminder of reality. You had spent most of the drive telling her about what had happened on the night of Warren’s engagement party and how Tony had apologized and came to your rescue. To your astonishment, she listened with minimal commentary.

“I kind of...yelled at him,” you admitted. “Not my finest moment, but it was like ripping a bandaid.” 

“Well, he deserved it. And I’m glad you guys eventually talked it out, and  _ he _ apologized,” she huffed, pouring an ungodly amount of salsa roja into the opening of her burrito. “But if you ask me, swooping in on Warren’s engagement dinner was a little excessive, but that’s Tony.” 

“It was surprisingly discreet,” you noted. “For him, at least.” 

“He is perfectly capable of being discreet when he wants to be. He just...never wants to be,” she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t understand half of the things that he does, even now.” 

“I always forget you guys went to boarding school together,” you said, reaching for your drink. “What was  _ that _ like? You basically got to see Tony Stark go through puberty.” 

“Oh, _____, you would have loved little freshman Tony. He was like a year younger than everyone else, but he was so adorable. He used to come to class wearing his little blazers and ties, like a little WASP-y prince.” 

“Beth, you went to boarding school. You were all WASP-y princes,” you deadpanned. 

“Yeah, but we didn’t dress like it, and hey, I was there on a partial scholarship,” she retorted. “My parents were very proud.” 

“They have a lot to be proud of, Beth,” you noted, reaching for the plastic bag that contained more tiny cups of salsa. “So Tony….” 

“Right, Tony! Ugh, he was such a little turd. The big athletic guys would try to bully him, but they always gave up after a week. I don’t know what he did, but once, he even got some kid expelled for spilling a Coke on his welding project,” she explained. “And I used to stick my neck out for that guy. I almost broke someone’s nose for him.” 

“Why would you do that?” you gaped. 

“I don’t know! We were friends, but we weren’t close. Tony just has this way with people. Sometimes, you just want to protect him.” 

“Well, thank god he’s a grown man now and can protect himself,” you chuckled. 

“And he was such a little heartbreaker,” she shook her head. “His first girlfriend probably thought she was going to marry him. She was in one of my classes and she didn’t show up for a whole week after Tony broke up with her.” 

“Wow, Tony’s first girlfriend? What was she like?”

Beth could go on and on about drama if you let her, and you had a feeling that part of her hadn’t changed much since her Andover days. But you were also grateful that you had met her when you did, not only was she a steady pillar of support but her personality and interests might not have been compatible with your teenage self. 

“His first  _ high school _ girlfriend, anyway,” she corrected. “Ugh, her name was Celeste and she was just one of those girls that always tried way too hard to be perfect. Like, she was super smart but she tried to fit in with the ‘classically popular’ kids and I think Tony just liked turning her out.” 

“Jesus,” you breathed. 

“Yeah, they were super horny, couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t his first kiss, but Tony probably learned how to use his tongue after dating her, and not just on her mouth.” 

You nearly spit out your drink from Beth’s candidness, which made her choke on her own drink as well. The both of you probably looked like you were have a stroke as you both tried to regain your breaths. 

“Why do you think he does that?” you mused aloud, looking down into the void of your nearly-finished burrito. 

“Does what? Use his tongue?"

“No, the whole ‘playboy’ thing,” you clarified. “It doesn’t seem like an act.” 

“It’s definitely not an act,” said Beth, tapping her chin in thought. “It’s more like....he’s afraid to open up and be himself around people. I know it sounds like first world problems, but when everyone either loves or hates you, it’s hard to find people you can trust, y’know?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you sighed, unconvinced. 

“Plus, I think he just wants to have fun,” she shrugged. “If you ask me, he’s definitely too old for it, but whatever it’s his life.” 

You’d give anything to break the horribly awkward silence that followed after. And maybe, you’d even kill someone to know what was going through Beth’s mind right now. 

“I mean, you’re right,” you finally said, causing Beth to look up from her burrito. 

“Right about what?” 

“That it’s his life. It just seems like...he knows better,” you sighed. 

“Oh, he definitely knows better,” Beth scoffed. “But why does this matter so much to you?” 

“I don’t know…” you trailed off. “I guess I’m just trying to understand him.” 

“Is for your music or…” 

“Yes!”

“Chill, girl. I was just wondering.” 

She put her hands up defensively, but you snatched the crumpled ball of aluminium foil that was once her burrito and stuffed into a plastic bag full of used napkins and empty salsa containers. 

“Y’know I never really thanked you,” you smiled. 

“For what?” 

“For dragging me out to that party. If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have gotten this gig,” you smiled. “And I wouldn’t have met Tony.” 

“If you ask me, you’re too good for him,” she shook her head. “Seriously, you could do  _ so  _ much better than Tony Stark.” 

You snorted. “The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.” 

But Beth, as usual, saw right through it. “Yeah right, the thought has most definitely crossed your mind. Anyone I've ever met who's attracted to men has thought about hooking up with Tony." 

"Seriously, Beth. I'm not interested in Tony like that,” you lied through your teeth. 

"Well, thank god. You can ask Georgia. I barely got any sleep when you went to New York with him. I kept thinking that he was going to seduce you or something.” 

“Well, I’m sorry that you lost sleep over it, but that trip was the most platonic vacation I have ever taken in my life. We slept in different rooms and I wore my cat pajamas. It was very unsexy, there was zero seduction going on.” 

“From now on, I think you should only wear your cat pajamas around him.” 

You snorted. “They’re very comfortable so I’m not entirely against that idea.” 

You felt an urgent buzz in your pocket, so you took out your phone and stared down at the blinking calendar notification, which indicated that the person on the other end had accepted the invitation.

As enlightening as this chat was with Beth, she and Tony hadn’t know each other for very long. Their relationship didn’t really extend past friendly acquaintances. She had her life, and he had his. Tony’s teenage exploits were entertaining, but not really reflective of the man he was today. No, there were definitely others who could probably tell you more about him, in greater and more intimate detail. 

* * *

 

Unlike her boss, Pepper Potts lived in a trendy downtown high-rise whenever she was on Pacific time. Without the cozy personal touches here and there, you would have thought that the place was a model unit to show prospective buyers, but you supposed it suited her personality: an organized and empowered woman with classically chic tastes. 

Pepper had called for an informal meeting at her apartment so she could pass along some materials that could possibly help get your creative juices flowing since you had reached out for information about Tony. You thought she would delegate the task to a random intern but much to your surprise, she had called you personally and asked to meet on a weekend at her apartment. It started to make more sense when she said that lunch would be delivered as well. It was kind of sweet, you thought as you grabbed that signed record of  _ The Glass Blossom _ that you had promised her. 

When you arrived, it seemed like you had caught her at the end of her morning yoga session, her pretty auburn hair tied up in a bun with little wisps escaping to frame her slightly flushed cheeks. Even though she was wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants, you still felt underdressed as she led you up the stairs and down a short hallway filled with modern art paintings. 

You entered what seemed like a library-study hybrid that had one wall lined with bookshelves while another had a floor-to-ceiling view of L.A. A simple white desk with golden accent pieces sat in the middle of the room while the rest of the space had a set of lounge chairs surrounding a coffee table. She motioned for you to take a seat anywhere while she went through a closet that was filled with various cardboard boxes and weirdly-shaped objects that were wrapped in bubble wrap. 

“God knows why I kept all of this stuff,” she huffed, lifting a heavy-looking box from the back of a closet. 

You reached for the lid, but she had her hands placed firmly on top, giving you a hard stare.

“Tony would tell me to destroy all of this if he knew I had it, so you absolutely cannot tell him about this,” she stated, her tone leaving no room for discussion. 

You nodded firmly, stunned her sudden shift. “Oh my god. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Good.” 

She set the box down on the coffee table and lifted the lid, a giddy smile on her lips as she pulled out a huge pile of what looked like old magazines and random photographs. Some of the pictures were in frames, some were in protective plastic sleeves, and some were compiled in inch-high stacks that were held together by giant binder clips. 

“No way,” you gawked, holding up a worn photo of a woman in a hospital bed with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. “Is this…” 

“Yeah, that’s Tony with his mother,” she smiled tenderly. “He looks so innocent and harmless there, doesn’t he?” 

“I can’t believe you have Tony Stark’s baby pictures,” you laughed, sifting through a small stack of photos of Tony ranging from age one to twenty one. 

“I have the originals,” she corrected. “Some of these are on the Internet and some of these are never supposed to see the light of day.” 

“Yeah, I can see why,” you grinned, holding up a picture of a fifteen year old Tony sporting an embarrassing mullet and a faded Atari t-shirt while he shook hands with the prime minister of Japan. “This is gold.” 

There was even a photo of Tony in his early twenties building homes in Guatemala, grinning at the camera as he sat on a half-finished roof with an arm wrapped around the shoulder of someone that looked like Rhodey. 

“Oh yeah, Howard did  _ not _ approve of that trip,” Pepper winced as you handed her the photo. 

“What do you know about him? Tony’s father, I mean,” you asked, setting down the stack in your hands. 

Pepper let out a long held breath, as if she had been waiting for the right person to ask her that for years. Someone who wasn’t a tourist looking to experience the mystery and fascination behind the Stark legacy before moving on to the next interesting story. 

“That their relationship was strained. Howard always held Tony to impossibly high standards, but only because he wanted him to succeed. He just...didn’t show it in the most healthy way. Maria was always the more nurturing one,” said Pepper. “I never got to meet them, but I think they’d be proud of who he became today.” 

“Yeah…me too,” you nodded. 

The silence lingered for a moment as you both continued looking through the box. While you were trying to take in everything all at once, Pepper seemed to be on a mission to find one particular item, going through a large pile of magazines. She gave a triumphant cheer when she found what she was looking for, thumbing through the pages before sliding it across the table towards you. 

“Here, read this. I want to know what you think of it,” she said, tapping the top of an article titled, “22th Century Man.” 

It appeared to be some kind of interview with a popular women's magazine where Tony was their featured  _ Celebrity Boyfriend of the Month _ . Interspaced with glossy photos of Tony strolling through Italy was a five page narrative about one reporter’s weekend with him. 

As you began reading, Pepper stood from her spot and moved to the record player in the corner of the room. Your ears instantly perked up when you heard a very familiar flute and harp intro, followed by the sound of drinks being poured. You thanked her quietly when she practically floated back to the couch, invigorated by your music, and handed you a glass of peach iced tea. 

It started off innocent enough, if not a little pretentious. The interview was conducted in Rome and Tuscany during the photoshoot with the magazine’s staff writer speaking to Tony whenever they had a spare moment. The rest of it was just quiet observations about his quirks and habits, an intimate look at “the real Tony Stark.” For example, now that you thought about it, Tony did have a tendency to put at least one hand on his hips whenever he was thinking about something. 

Then you reached the page with a cheeky photo of Tony lounging on a window seat with his legs lifted into the air while he bit one of the tips of his sunglasses. His smile was so inviting and playful, you just wanted to slap it from his face. 

“Listen to this,” you prefaced before reading aloud, “When asked about what he looks for in a partner, Tony gives me an all-too-knowing smirk, like the love interest of a romance novel, and answers without missing a single beat, ‘Personality and nice handwriting. Oh and long walks in the rain.’” 

Pepper was doing a terrible job of trying to hold in her laughter, which somehow managed to make the interview way funnier than it actually was. 

“Did you tell him to say that?” you asked in amused disbelief.

“No way. That was  _ all _ him,” she put her hands up defensively. 

“But it sounds like it could be anyone.” 

“Exactly,” she nodded. “You know that expression, ‘There’s plenty of fish in the sea?’ Well, Tony’s known for casting a wide net.” 

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way,” you shuddered, thinking back fondly on your memories of Nina Macleod. 

“He's not harassing you, is he? Because I can tell him to back off--” you swore you saw Pepper's eyebrow twitch. 

“No no! He's not bothering me at all. Actually, he's been really nice to me…” you trailed off as you recalled those nights spent by his piano. 

“That's a good sign. It means he respects you,” she nodded. 

“So he doesn't respect the people he sleeps with?” 

“Let me reword that,” she shook her head, cringing at what her previous statement implied. “I meant, he at least values your friendship enough to not want to jeopardize it by throwing sex into the equation…does that make sense?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded as you stared down at a handsome photo of Tony wooing the camera as he worked under the hood of a vintage convertible while dressed in a baby blue designer suit. “Yeah, it does.” 

* * *

 

Despite your enlightening and cordial meeting with Pepper, you were sure that she was probably at her wit’s end with you and Tony, mostly Tony. Everything was down to the wire, and an opening in his schedule had magically appeared a few days later, most likely by her righteous intervention. You and Tony were going to meet in your studio tomorrow night to discuss any final changes before you began recording. Two days before you were scheduled to fly out to New York.

You had no idea what to expect, since Tony was a bit of a wild card. You had over twenty tracks to show him and depending on his reaction, the entire process could take between an hour or five. 

Then, there was the matter of the actual scoring sessions themselves. The spring season was in full swing and every conductor that you had gotten in touch with expressed their enthusiasm for the project but couldn't take it, due to scheduling conflicts with their own rehearsal and audition times. And Tony was of no help. In fact, he had left very little room to breathe or negotiate and it was very clear what he wanted from you. 

“The universe is sending you a sign, Waters,” he only smirked when you told him the news during a video call, the night before your meeting. “Didn’t you tell me before that you missed conducting? This is your big chance to do it for one of the best projects you’ll ever work on.” 

“Watch it,” you warned. 

“Hey, I said ‘one of the best,’” he reminded you before narrowing ducking out of the way of a mean-looking hook. 

Tony seemed to be in the middle of a training session because you were trying to finalize your plans for tomorrow’s meeting when a gloved fist met his face, followed by a pained grunt. “Jesus, Carol, take it easy on the face. I mean, it’s insured, but fuck...” 

“Maybe it wouldn’t have to be if you worked on protecting your left like I’ve been telling you,” roasted a female voice that probably belonged to Carol.  

“You sound busy, Tony,” you chuckled. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, he’s busy. Busy getting his ass kicked,” said Carol. “C’mon, pretty boy, put ‘em up.” 

“Aww, you think I’m pretty--OW! Fuck!” 

“Ok, I’m hanging up now,” you called out.

You waited for a response and received one after a few harsh grunts. “See ya, Waters.” 

It was never too early to pack for New York and you knew that if you packed the night before, you would find ways to procrastinate, like you always did. Your feet paced the space in front of your bed as you stared down at your open luggage. Your baton was still sitting in its case next to a small pile of shirts. The only reason it wasn’t covered in dust was because it had been stashed at the bottom of one of your desk drawers, untouched for at least two years. Until now. 

With a heavy sigh, you picked it up by its handle and fell back on old habits, letting the pointed tip poke into each of your fingertips. Almost like second nature, you lifted your hands with the baton in your right and let them cut and weave through the air, moving along to music only you could hear. Tony was right. 

“It’s a sign,” you whispered softly to yourself before setting it back into its case and tossing it into your luggage. 

* * *

 

You’re being silly, you reminded yourself before correcting yourself. No, you were being more than silly, but you didn’t want to say the word that you were actually thinking of. The colors in your closet seemed to take on different shades than what you were used to. Why and how on earth did you manage to accumulate so many black clothes? In the end, you decided to throw on one of your favorite flannels and comfortable pair of leggings to call it a day. Tony didn’t need to know that you picked them up off the floor from the corner of your room and that you wore the exact same ensemble yesterday for a whole day of lessons and production work. 

Suddenly, it felt like your bedroom was closing in on you and you tried to return to your living room but found those walls shrinking as well. You wound up pacing back and forth from the kitchen back to the couch, straightening shelves and cleaning counters as you went. When you finally made it into your studio, you tried to unleash your anxiety-induced panic-cleaning on it, but ended up leaving the room untouched. No, there was a system here. You shouldn't be disturbing it. 

Your monitors were still asleep, but you had to disturb them briefly to check on the finished tracks that you were planning to show Tony today. Everything was still exactly in its place as you had left it the night before, even the song that you spent four hours trying to tinker with only to be forced to admit that it was perfect the way it was. 

You hoped that glancing at the clock would bring you comfort, that it would be another hour before Tony arrived and that you would have time to distract yourself with something else or that he would show up any minute now so you could get this meeting over with. Your hands were fidgety, anxious, eager to touch something. No, definitely a something and not a someone. 

You turned your back on your synthesizers and instead, shuffled over to the bench of your Yamaha instead. You idly drummed your fingers against the case before biting the bullet, groaning at yourself and lifting the cover. You fiddled with the foldable music stand and your copies of the music that your last student, a studious high school student, had accidentally left behind from his last lesson. 

Before you had the chance to change your mind, you swung your legs around to the front and began to play. It was something from an anime, or maybe it was a videogame. Justin had tried to explain the plot to you, but it was way too confusing to follow just from a description alone. However, the piece itself was beautiful and the arrangement he had found off the internet was excellent. You blazed through all of his trouble spots with ease, smiling to yourself at the exaggerated way he would cringe and curse under his breath every time he made a mistake. Once you finished the piece, you turned towards the clock again.

You should have known. In this situation, time didn’t fly just because you were having fun. You lifted your butt from the seat and lifted the cushion to see if there was anything stashed in there. And that was how you distracted yourself for the next hour. In fact, you hardly even noticed that Tony was a little over two hours late, factoring in the fact that you had set the appointment for five, fully expecting him to show up at six. And then the panic began to settle in.

Something was wrong. 

You were filled with sick feelings of deja vu as you sipped at a glass of iced tea. Needing to do  _ something _ with your hands besides playing the piano, you began to fiddle with the mechanical metronome that lived on top of your upright. What if he was in trouble? What if he forgot? What if he never planned to show up and was going to send someone else, but then  _ they _ forgot? 

You were about to shift the dial on the metronome again when you heard the sound of a car door slamming outside. Before you even knew what was happening, you set your glass on top of the desk and rushed outside to meet Tony. 

It was hard to hide your disappointment at seeing Siwoo instead. Not that you were ever truly disappointed to see one of your best friends. But you knew exactly why he was here and why it would be impossible to get him to leave. He was just being a good friend, but there was some hopeful and disgustingly romantic part of you that wanted this to yourself. Just one more moment with Tony, where it was just you and him and the rest of the world was...well, another world away. 

"Hey, did you eat yet? Because I got fried chicken,” was his way of greeting you as he climbed out of his car and then produced two plastic bags from the other seat. You could practically smell the sweet and spicy glaze from where you stood. 

"Go ahead and eat first. I don't want to get my hands all greasy," you said to his retreating back as he invited himself inside. 

You followed Siwoo to your kitchen, where he began pulling plastic to-go boxes out from the bags and setting them on to your table. God you were so hungry. 

“I think something happened. Tony would have called by now,” you said, your voice wobbling more than intended as you reached into one of your cabinets to grab some plates. 

“Wait, you don’t know?” asked Siwoo, halting in his dinner assembly. 

“Know what?” 

Siwoo made a harsh click with his tongue before standing up from his seat and crossing over to your living room in a few urgent strides. He swiped your TV’s remote from the coffee table and turned on the news. 

“...So far there’s been no official word from anyone from either Divination or Stark Industries on who is responsible for the incident that occurred within Divination’s main R&D building,” reported the concerned news anchor as the broadcast showed aerial footage from above Divination’s massive campus. “Residents living nearby report hearing the explosion at around five thirty…” 

“Fuck…” was the only real reaction you could give as your eyes skimmed the lower third. 

_ Bombing at Divination: Suspect Targeted Sublevel Labs  _

“But what does Tony…” 

“Shh, listen,” Siwoo frowned, gesturing towards the screen. 

“Fortunately, Tony Stark and several other Avengers, who were already visiting Divination for the Stark Expo, were able to intervene and assist in evacuating the employees still trapped inside,” said the reporter. “Without the help of these brave heroes, this incident could have ended in significantly more casualties…” 

You reached for the remote in Siwoo’s hand, but he had already turned off the TV. You could feel a hand on your back as he guided you to the couch and had you take a seat. “____, are you ok?” 

“Yeah…” you nodded quietly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Ok, and you know that Tony’s fine too, right?” he said slowly, nodding along with you. 

“How do you know that for sure?” you demanded defensively. 

“Because we would have known by now if he wasn’t,” Siwoo reminded you grimly. 

In most cases, you would have lost your appetite, but for some reason, you felt like the opposite. Maybe putting yourself in a food coma would make you feel better. Sitting there wasn’t going to accomplish anything and would only serve to make you worry more. In the end, you were forced to concede to your own hunger and shared a quiet meal with Siwoo before you both retreated to where you were always most comfortable: the studio. There, he found your computer ready to go with all of the songs you had either completed or were still working on neatly organized into one folder. 

“Is this all of it?” he asked as he scrolled through your desktop. 

“Yeah, pretty much," you chuckled in disbelief. "I've been busy." 

"I can tell," he let out a low whistle. "Can I?" 

You gestured affirmatively and sat back in your chair as Siwoo pulled up the first track in the folder. Siwoo wasn't as well versed as you in the production and composition side of things, making his living by playing things other people wrote, but even he could see the care and delicacy with which you had approached this job. 

As soon as the first few measures of Tony’s entrance music began to play, you noticed the way Siwoo sat up straighter, nodding along to the beat. But that’s all it was, a beat and rhythm with bits and pieces of a melody that you couldn’t quite figure out yet. 

“Damn…” he breathed. “When are you going to write something like this for me?” 

“You want me to write you something?” you laughed, staring blankly at the bars on the equalizer dance along with the piece. “Maybe for your birthday.” 

“Please, I was kidding,” he chuckled, nudging you on the shoulder. “Seriously, ____, this is great. It sounds just like him.”

“I hope so, and I hope I figure out the rest soon," you sighed. You supposed you had a lot of hopes. 

“You will. You always do,” reassured Siwoo. “Is he rushing you?” 

“No, but I think that just makes it worse. It makes me anxious,” you glanced up at the clock with a sigh. “I guess I can always ask him if we ever have this meeting.” 

“You will,” reassured Siwoo. “Shit just...happens, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, flipping through your phone for any updates, but things were beginning to wind down.

Roman Peters, the CEO of Divination, was known for having a religiously active Twitter feed and was already trying to put out fires where he could, while Tony was helping with the more literal fires. It was hard to not let yourself believe that Tony had stood you up. Worse, that he stood you up for Nina Macleod, the only person you really knew from that company besides learning the CEO’s name a minute ago, thanks to the internet. 

No, you were being ridiculous and childish. You had just spoken to him yesterday. He definitely remembered. He was just busy saving lives, as one does. 

Siwoo pursed his lips in thought, teetering back and forth between excusing himself for the night or keeping you company. 

“How’d you do it?” he asked instead, not really expecting a real answer. 

“Same as always. I just score what I feel, and I do it again and again until it sounds good,” you joked.

“Did it work for Tony?” Siwoo grinned knowingly. 

But whether you saw his coy expression or not remained to be seen. You were doing that thing again, where you were sort of spaced out but remained partially aware. 

“I just started thinking about how he makes me feel and what it’s like to be around him. Beth helped...and Pepper too.”

“Oh? And how does he make you feel?” 

He should have known better than to ask such an obviously loaded question, but it was Siwoo. You could tell him anything and he would never judge. With that, you promptly snapped out of your daze and turned to give him a smile. 

"I'm not sure," you said, and you were lying again, by omission anyway. It was always easier to just be frustrated, with either him or yourself. “Right now, he’s making me feel shitty.” 

“Why do you feel shitty? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Because…it’s not fair,” you sighed, contemplated whether or not you really were in the over-sharing mood. In the end, the words spilled out of you before you could stop yourself. “I feel like you can’t get mad at Iron Man for being Iron Man. Like, what’s more important? A meeting that could be rescheduled or saving people from a burning building?” 

Siwoo pursed his lips in thought, rubbing at his chin. There were a million thoughts racing through your head and all of them included some variation of how Siwoo, and somehow by proxy, the entire world, was probably judging you, when you couldn’t be more further than the truth. 

“No, I think you can. Yeah, he’s an Avenger and he’s Iron Man, but he’s still Tony. And you can’t help yourself from feeling disappointed when you were really looking forward to this.”

“Right… _ Right! _ ” you repeated with more emphasis as it began to dawn on you. "Dammit, I  _ was  _ looking forward to this."

“And that’s why you’re disappointed,” prompted Siwoo, nodding to himself as he began moving all of the pieces in order for you to figure out. 

“But I don’t know why this is bothering me so much,” you snapped, ruffling your own hair in exasperation. “Like, two months ago, I wouldn’t have cared.” 

He raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed over his chest. If you weren’t in the middle of a breakthrough, you would have slapped his shins for moving your piano bench over to use as a footrest. Except he didn’t have to move it very far; the man was built like an oak tree. 

“Bitch, you know exactly why you care so much,” he snorted. 

Two months ago, Tony Stark was practically an enigma. It was hard to draw the line between man and public figure, but now you were finding it hard to uphold the barrier between platonic and romantic feelings. 

“We’re not talking about that today,” you told him firmly, halting in your paces. 

“Ok, so when are we going to talk about it?” he smirked knowingly. “The very,  _ very _ real possibility that…” 

“Stop, Siwoo. Don’t even say it. I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t even want to acknowledge it, I’m never going to.” 

“I don’t know if you know this, ____, but it’s perfectly ok and normal to fall in love with someone,” he said softly, but still with that shit-eating grin. “Lots of people fall in love in their lifetime.” 

“No, it’s not!” you shouted, throwing up your hands in a strangling motion. “It’s not ok. It’s the worst! Love is the worst, Siwoo!” 

“Calm down!” 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” 

Even the most far-removed strangers could see that you weren’t actually fighting, not from the way you two were smiling and grinning at each other in the way that only close friends did. 

“Fucking....” you grumbled under your breath, kicking the corner of the rug that had curled upward from Siwoo wheeling around in your chair. 

“This is the worst,” you repeated. “Fuck Tony Stark.” 

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” 

“Ok, you need to leave.” 

Siwoo ended up leaving your house an hour later, when he thought you were too tired to worry or be pissed off about Tony. But little did he know, you weren’t planning on quitting either of those things. You undressed and got ready for bed, but just as you were pulling aside your covers to climb into bed, you changed your mind and headed back to your studio. The corner of your rug was going to stay permanently curled as you pulled your chair out and took a seat behind your desk. In a few quick swipes of your mouse, you opened the only unfinished piece that remained. 

It was times like these when you wished you were an artist or a sculptor, and maybe you were in a previous life because all you wanted in this very moment was to throw paint at a canvas without any rhyme or rhythm, filling the blank space with angry reds and loud yellows that crashed together and faded into warm oranges and burnt golds. Siwoo was right. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling whatever you were feeling, so you were going to let every bit of it wash over you until you arrived at an answer. 

If Tony Stark were a song, what would he sound like? How does he make you feel? 

A month ago, you wouldn’t have cared. A minute ago, you cared so much that it scared you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The next chapter will be entirely from Tony's perspective and takes place within the exact same time frame.]


End file.
